Stealing Back My Destiny
by phyreblade
Summary: Captain Gaibriel Duncan has been alone for years. He's still seeking the ones he lost, determined to find them, and to never be caged again. He'll have his freedom, he'll take back what they took from him. Follows the Smuggler story line from SWTOR, third story in my Destiny series. Male scoundrel w/ Akaavi romance. Other characters and classes will make appearance.
1. Prologue

**NOTE: All characters are property of Bioware and EA, no matter how much I might wish differently. Kudos to those Bioware writers who created such exceptional stories. Please please keep up the excellent work! You guys rock!**

* * *

Gaibriel lowered his small chin, tucking Camiel's head into the warm cocoon of his throat. She whimpered again, and he felt her fear, her terror skittering there between them. She was sending him waves of distress, that worked to heighten his already tight, distressed muscles. So he tightened his arms around her, trying desperately to calm her and to hide from the reality of the meandering discussion between the two wealthy men across the expanse of the courtyard.

He glanced up towards the sky, watched the path of Ch'hodos' red sun moving slowly across the seemingly burning sky. His arms still burned from the so-called medicine their owner had injected him with yesterday, but it didn't stop him from clasping his sister even closer to him. He wanted to scream, to rage and cry. But he manfully bit his lower lip, bit it hard, until he felt the wash of blood against his tongue.

Anything was better than showing the lunatic that continued pumping his body full of … whatever it was … well, showing him that it was having any discernible effect on his body couldn't be allowed. He wouldn't give Borias Tirk so much satisfaction, not when his skin felt tight and tingly. Not even when it seemed like fire sizzled up and down his spine. He sensed that bad things would happen if the man thought there was anything like success coming from his efforts.

Listening to Tirk talking to the stranger, though, success was far from his consideration. Gaibriel could hear him almost chanting the words "abysmal failure, is all they are", in fact. It sent a perverse thrill through him, to know they'd managed to hide so much from the cruel monster of a scientist who'd purchased them from their last owner earlier in the year.

Just five months it had taken them, moving so carefully every time the man entered the room. Communicating only in that special way they had over the years, with Camiel whispering into Gaibriel's head rather than his ear for anyone else to hear. And otherwise presenting themselves as the supposedly normal children they'd always seemed to be. Just so long as Tirk never realized how extraordinary Cam really was.

He had to keep his sister safe, Gaibriel thought. So long as their master relied upon their unique genetics, the way he could safely experiment on one twin and use the other as a comparison specimen, then Cam would be all right. He'd bide his time, endure the pain and the upset that came when the supposed scientist played around with some new and increasingly fancy drug, fascinated as he was by the mutations occurring among the local wildlife on the planet so much he wanted to see what the changing atmosphere would do to humans. He'd stay quiet no matter how hard it was, no matter how long the jerk left them to rot outside in this tiny cage, he swore to himself.

He snorted, looking over towards Tirk as he spoke earnestly with his strange visitor. Gaib was confused at the way the man looked over at them, the way his gaze slid up and down their small forms huddled there in the cage, the one Tirk used to study the effects of the growing levels of radiation from the red sun overhead. The stranger looked hungry when he looked at them. It made worry join the fired-up anger thrilling through his young body. He didn't _like_ the stranger.

Camiel tugged against his back, where her arms were wrapped tightly. "_He's a bad man, Gaib. He wants … I don't understand … but it's bad. It's bad_."

Gaibriel felt every one of the muscles in his body tighten even more when her words whispered through his mind. He thought feverishly over what he could do, how he could protect her. But there wasn't anything, nothing. An image flashed in his memory, of home, a dark world, rain sleeting down while an explosions filled the air and took his family apart, killed his mother. Killed his sister. Kastiel. She would've fought the man, as hard as she possibly could. She wouldn't have given up, not for anything. It's why she was gone, he agonized.

Gaibriel peeked over Cam's head when Tirk grunted from where he stood just in front of the cage. Tirk was a big man, a burly human, with skin tinged grey from neglect, from hours spent bent over baking chemicals and concoctions in a lab. His black hair was thin and long, gathered together into a tight ponytail along the back of his head. His eyes glittered down at them like green jade, maddened, "They're a matched set, Rend. Look at them. Such delightful toys, hmm?"

The stranger smiled at Tirk tightly. "I have no interest in boys, you know that."

Gaibriel felt himself start to pant, as he realized they stood to be sold yet again. Sometimes they were lucky, and they went to masters who only paraded them around like pretty decorations. Other times they went to a master who wanted small, slight figures to work in cramped spaces. They'd worked at several constructions sites scattered on various worlds of the Empire. But Tirk was the worst yet, using them as mere fodder in his efforts to study the changing atmosphere of this red world.

Every new master was a gamble, a potential terror. Camiel usually studied them, so that they might cozen their way out of the notice or attention of a bad one. And this one scared her. Gaib's mind spun crazily as he tried to figure the best way of saving them from the man, this "Rend". Rend. Like ripping apart, tearing to pieces. He shuddered lightly as his sister whimpered into his throat again.

"Oh, but the boy's eyes - look at them. So pretty. Like sapphires, don't you think?" Tirk smirked at the man.

Rend gazed at Gaibriel critically, sliding his gaze down and over his thin, lanky frame. "He's already becoming too old, starting to fill out. How old is he? Ten? Eleven? Soon, he won't even be worth a glance, no matter how pretty his eyes are." He squatted down, leaning closer as he tried to see Camiel. But her face was buried against Gaibriel's neck, and she managed, somehow, to twist herself even closer to him. Rend snorted. "I can't even see her. Pull her out of there."

Gaibriel huffed, as he watched Tirk nod towards the guards, who almost cantered towards the cage. He spun around, thrusting Camiel into the corner of the cage and using his own small body to block them from reaching her. She was whining loudly, almost squealing. Gaibriel grasped at the cables that made up the rungs of the enclosure, trying to anchor himself against the hard fingers that grabbed at him, tried to rip him away from his sister. Camiel started crying, hard, until her tears made his neck feel cold and wet. Gaib hissed, biting at any fingers that came too close. Someone smacked him in the back of the head, viciously hard. He started yelling, screaming threats, swearing he'd bite their fingers off, tear out their eyes, anything, if they even touched her.

Useless. The men began kicking him, hard and solid along the lower part of his thin back. Until his skin was mottled with new bruises and he started seeing stars. He felt blackness gathering along the edges of his vision. He yelled one last time, just as he felt Camiel yanked away from him, screaming. He cried, "No! No! Cam! Nooo!" But she was gone, and he could only lay there, blinking tearfully towards the men who held his sister up into the air, high enough the man called Rend could view her comfortably.

"Pretty enough. Her eyes don't match his. Pity, that. It cheapens her value," Rend meandered in a circle around the girl child, who dangled there in the hard, steely grip of the guards, there in mid-air, crying great gasping breaths as she tried desperately turning and twisting her small body, tried to get back to her brother. Gaibriel was the one whimpering now, watching her from where he lay sprawled.

"Come now, Rend. Take them both, the price is good."

Rend glanced back at Gaibriel. The little biter, he thought to himself. The last thing he wanted was to fight off a vicious little monster during his trip. Alderaan was such a boring locale, regardless. So little time for excursions, for spots of fun. Best to get real entertainment along the way, rather. And once the toy is broken, toss it out an airlock, he supposed. He mentally shrugged as he turned back to face Tirk again, "No. I'm not looking to break in a fighter, Borias. I simply don't have the time, nor the inclination. You're lucky I'm willing to buy the girl, she's so small and tired-looking. How long has she been kept out here?"

Gaibriel felt painful distress pulling against his body as they argued over prices, wondered if something was broken, bleeding inside of him. He tried dragging himself closer to the door of the cage, whispered desperately, "Camiel ..." She looked over, saw him fighting with everything in him to get to her. Fear trilled through her, terror over the sense of doom filling her, knew there was no way to stop whatever bad thing was coming. But her brother would keep trying, fighting until he was killed right there on the sandy, red ground of this world. She whimpered, beyond horrified at the thought. She'd rather die herself than let her brother lose against such terrible odds.

"_Please, Gaib. Stop now_." He looked at her, shook his dark head tiredly. She bit her lip, looking at the weasel face of the man hoping to buy her, knew he was the worst man she'd ever known. The sense of wrong-ness coming from him was immense, incredible - it almost overwhelmed her. Gaib would not give up, and she knew it. She depended on it, dug deep down into herself and whispered the promise to her future self, that she'd survive, that Gaib would survive. Even if survival came at a heady, awful price. And it would, she knew it, felt it.

She looked towards her brother again, felt tears edging down her dusty cheeks to leave wet trails against her face. "_I love you, Gaib. Don't ever stop, just find a way back to freedom_." She felt the horrible realization rip through him, just before she reached out to him through their bond, and wrenched hard. Hard enough he jerked back against the pain, and fell down into the darkness of unconsciousness. She was still sobbing, still watching him lying there in the dirt of that cage as they dragged her away. And then she couldn't see him anymore.

* * *

His mind was a dark place, full of the darkest, most terrible quiet, broken only by ugly moments of panic, fear, and pain when she wouldn't be able to stop from screaming out against whatever was happening to her. And even then she didn't let him see, didn't let him know what was so awful and terrible. He hated it, screamed aloud the way she was screaming into his mind. Hours passed. Days. He felt himself splintering, threw himself against the walls that surrounded him until his skin was covered in bruises and lacerations and the guards pulled him down and tied him up.

But he couldn't stop. He cried endlessly, over and over, sobbing pitifully there in the cage he despised, alone. Until she finally broke. He felt it happen, felt her mind starting to snap. But she stopped, stopped it all, just stopped everything. She threw up one final wall, one single last and desperate defense against the pain. Then everything was dark, everything in his mind just ... silent. She was gone, far away from him, so frightened, so terrified that she'd closed her mind off from anything, everything. She didn't even hear him anymore. Just lost herself in blessed, comfortable silence far away from it all, even him. She saved herself at the last possible moment. Saved him, even more important, she felt.

But he was still left there. Alone.


	2. Chapter 1 -- Alone in the Dark

Gaibriel coughed, as the dust from the explosion swirled up and over his dark head, until he couldn't breathe comfortably. He chuckled, staring down into the dark hole the bomb exposed, where there workers had gathered around. "Look at that! Like descending into the ass of the planet itself! I just can't wait to see what kind of shit is down there at the bottom."

Old man Kinser shook his graying head towards Gaibriel. "Boy, you've been doing too much of that giggledust. It's rottin' your head."

"Probably." Gaibriel hunkered down closer to the edge of the hole, wrapping the thick fibrous cord around his waist as he peered down into the darkness. He swiped a single finger across his upper lip, where the yellow line that came from regular doses of spice still lingered. "But still looking better while I rot than you with your sorry skinny ass, Kinser."

The men all laughed delightedly. But Kinser eyed the tousle-haired youth steadily, his expression grave and serious. Gaibriel was normally the life of their little group. His inveterate humor never failed to liven the men's flagging spirits, until he'd become their unspoken mascot. All of them watched out for the boy. They even filched extra rations for him on occasion, what with his lean frame starting to ease into that awkward stage of adolescence where nothing seemed to fit quite right together, where legs might look a bit too long or hands too large.

And it's not that Kinser disdained the slaves in the camps who relied upon the spices that made them feel good, either. Even if the feel-goods were only pretend, just illusions of momentary pleasure made by whatever chemicals they ingested. It was more that he sensed the desperation which drove Gaibriel in a near reckless drive closer and closer to self-destruction, until he was almost literally hiding in the spice that turned his young nose yellow. It bothered him, somehow. Maybe it was Gaib's sheer youth, that he was just turned fourteen.

More likely it was the feeling he sensed, that Gaibriel was … different. Unique. Like he didn't belong here, not in a place like this, where men slowly withered and died under the yokes of viciously cruel taskmasters. He looked at Gaib's lanky frame, his slim body wrapped in rope as he leaned out over the lip of the dark hole, preparing to descend. He didn't want the boy to become one of the nameless many who lost their lives in this place – didn't want him to be blown to bits in an explosion, or chomped on by one of the beasts lurking down in the dark places, twisted by whatever magics the Sith used when they'd made their monuments, here. Kinser ached whenever he saw the slaves beaten to bruised, broken and shattered remnants by one of the more cruel slave drivers, feared Gaibriel, with his witty, smart alecky mouth, becoming one of them.

Gaibriel loosed his hold on the stone edges of the hole just then, so that he dropped down into the dark like a shot. He cried out to the men, "Woo! Watch me fly, boys!" He continued to hum an absurdly funny ditty as he disappeared into the shadows, until none of them could see even an outline of his figure anymore. The men held onto the rope, slowly lowering the boy down and down, listening to him as he continued to call back up to them, "No shit yet! We're doing good so far … hey! Damn rope … It's pinching me right damn _there_! You guys trying to keep me from making babies someday?" He made his voice appropriately high-pitched and whiny as he complained with pretended affront. One of the men holding the rope chuckled, "I swear to the gods, I love that kid."

Kinser snarled, leaning his grey-haired head over the edge of the hole as he strained to see anything at all of Gaibriel down below. "If you have even a smidgeon of care for his welfare, then fucking concentrate on what you're doing, you damn fool!"

Grunts sounded from several men, as they all hunkered down to the task at hand, standing ready to pull the boy back up out of the ground. Kinser peered as deep into the dark as he could, trying to see any sign of movement, of light twinkling as the youth moved down below maybe. But there was nothing more than the twitch of the rope against the edge of the hole to indicate he was still alive and kicking.

Didn't help that Gaibriel was staying absolutely quiet now. Bad things lurked in the dark Sith ruins of Bergeron, Kinser thought, sighing. Not that Gaib would ever use the little lamp the taskmaster thrust into his hands earlier in the day, either. Kinser didn't believe the boy truly needed it, even. He didn't let on, didn't brag or boast of such an ability. But Kinser had seen the peculiar sheen to his eyes, the way his bright blue irises were highlighted with an actual iridescent hue in certain low lights.

He knew that Gaibriel could see in the dark, knew it! It's why the boy could maneuver down below without a lamp, without making any sound. Without fear he'd stumble over something he couldn't discern, to boot. Gaib was gifted, no doubt about it. Kinser had supposed it was a sensitivity to Force powers, maybe a bit of the stuff that leached from the relics in the area. Or just something he was born with. Who really knew how that sort of thing worked, really? All Kinser knew was it was something you didn't go around blabbing about, is all. Slaves with unique abilities or skills were slaves put to use – and used _hard_, too. He'd not go about doing that to Gaibriel.

No, Kinser thought. He kept his attention squared on the opening into the ground for now, the concern on his face palpable as he waited. Better to keep his damn mouth shut, and hope Gaibriel survived the darkness below, than to visit new dark chances into his young life.

* * *

Gaibriel eased his head around the curve of the rocky ledge, gazing down the length of tunnel towards a distant space that emerged out into the wilds nearby the ruins. He sighed heavily, looking towards that far off possibility of nebulous freedom. The rope around his waist suddenly felt heavy, a weight holding him place, insisting he wouldn't be allowed very far, that he'd be dragged back and punished severely for even trying. The weight bore down against his slim hips until he considered just sinking down into a heap right there on the ground. Despair beat at his flagging spirit. He started to pant, knew he was losing it as he started hyperventilating.

These attacks were becoming more and more common, where he found it difficult to breathe. There were moments he wondered if there'd come a point he wasn't able to catch air into his lungs anymore, that his breathing would just stop. Would he just keel over dead right there on the spot? Then he wondered if it mattered. What difference would it make, really? Who'd even care? He wasn't anything important, just another lousy slave lost in the mire of Imperial slavery, breaking himself against the demands of whatever master directed him. Why he kept going … well, that was the real question, wasn't it?

And that was the question the attacks really prompted. More and more, until it beat at him like a sledge. At least until he made it stop with another sniff of giggledust. That yellow shit was the only stuff that kept him from just rolling over and calling it quits for now. He figured there'd come a point it didn't work anymore, and then he'd really just up and die. Oh, now there was a thought, huh? And why did it bring him such pleasure to contemplate it? Shouldn't he want to _live_? Why was there more comfort in the thought he could just stop trying, just give up the fight for good?

He turned away from the tunnel, finally, turning away from a promise of freedom that simply wasn't going to come. Not ever. "_Find a way back to freedom_." Bullshit, he thought. There wasn't any such thing, not for him. Instead, he concentrated on the broken pillars and cracked flooring of the room the bombs had busted an opening into. He peered at the walls, examining the space for anything interesting. The pictures on the walls were intricate at least, and he padded over to one of the murals to examine it closer. It was a battle scene, one showing hard-armored figures fighting against lightsaber-wielding combatants. _Mandalorians_, he surmised. He turned away, not able to discern the intricate colors of the scene on the wall regardless. Everything in the dark looked grey, silvery blue maybe. There was no color in his sight down here, nothing worth stopping to marvel at. Nor was it something he could carry away, either.

The lamp thumped against his thigh, making a small clink of sound in the wide open space. He frowned, stopping to see if anything reacted to the sound, if anything moved or decided to come at him through the pale shadows. But the room remained quiet, almost dead silent. _Maybe it's a tomb_, he thought, as he better secured the dim lamp against his thigh so it didn't swing around too much. Kinser had worried the first few times Gaib refrained from turning the thing on, asked him if he was afraid of bumping into things down in the holes. Eventually he stopped asking, and Gaibriel realized he must've seen something, some sign of his weirdness. But the old man stayed quiet about it, too, and Gaib was grateful to him for it.

It wasn't that he saw so clearly, mind you. More like he saw shades other humans didn't, or couldn't. Hey, that's what comes of being pumped full of shit drugs and then left outside on a world rife with sun-waves for days on end. At least that's what he'd long since figured. Wasn't even the weirdest thing about him, either, so chalk it up to a minor bit of interesting nonsense and move right along, he huffed lightly to himself.

That's when Gaibriel caught sight of a twinkle in the low shadows of the place. He breathed in slowly as he approached the thing. It was buried under some cracked rocks, as if it had been resting on a stone table that busted up into pieces over the years. He canted his head to the side as he studied the diamond-shaped … thing. He knew it wasn't a _good_ thing, that whatever it was could hurt people. The sense of it crawled over his skin, like a dirty wet cloth. Icky shit, basically. Hey, maybe it would hurt _him_. And who cared about that, either, he thought snidely enough.

The question winged down his spine one more time. It trembled through him, rumbled slowly, then built up. It seemed to grow louder and louder, until it almost seemed the only thing he could hear, the only concern in his mind. Why go on, why keep fighting, why not give up? Just give up, why not? Until it seemed like a bell sounding in his ears over and over and over again. His head pounded slowly and he felt the trickle of blood just under his nose. Bleeding! No! He stopped suddenly, like a shot, his own voice superceding over the knelling sound in his brain, until he was almost shouting into his mind, "_Leave me alone! Get away!_" He thrust up imaginary walls, building them up in his mind, stone by stone, like his sister once taught him, until he felt himself all wrapped up, safe, secure from whatever had tried to use his own fear and hopelessness so baldly.

Gaibriel panted slowly, until his breaths were even and steady once again. He sniffed back the blood leaking slowly from his nose, sneering down at the _thing_. He'd won! He'd beat it! Hah! Then he yanked out a small, slender bag made from soft cloth. And he plucked the Sith thing from its little recess and dropped it down into the depths of the bag.

* * *

"Ah, hell. Why I even agreed to talk to you, I'll never know." Wicks Duncan glared at the skinny little rat fink of a figure standing in front of him. The man was a fool, using slave labor to loot the ruins of any world in the Stygian Caldera. You didn't steal from the Sith without paying a heavy price, Duncan thought, snorting. _I knew I should've just hopped back onto the hyperlane_, Wicks thought to himself, morose. "I'm transporting hydroregulators from Tatooine to here on Jaguada, and that's risky enough. Damn few people trade successfully in Sith space. More than one captain told me not to chance it. And here you are. Asking for even more."

Miloh Uxe glared back at him, his thin nose pinching so tight it looked like he'd have issues drawing a spot of breath into his nostrils. The thought was amusing enough, at least. So he took the time to lecture him, "Hey, hydroregulators are important things on desert worlds. Brings water to local communities. You should learn the benefits of water. Makes for minor conveniences - like baths." He smiled tightly as the man's dirty, dusty face went even more rigid, if that was possible. Then the boy lurking as unobtrusively as he could against the wall there behind Miloh choked on a brief laugh. The rodent of a man shot a glance back at him, snarling. He twisted the thin chain that lead to the collar around the boy's neck and viciously, cruelly yanked, hard. The boy stumbled, almost falling face forward into the floor. But he caught himself, stiffening his young body as he shook his dark head, causing his shaggy black hair to fall back from his forehead. He coughed several times, trying to regain his lost breath and won the fight.

Wicks frowned, thinking of the practice behind such a victory. He could tell it was a fight the boy'd made many times before, anticipated making many more times still. And it bothered him, offended him on some incredible level, one he'd thought long since lost, back when he still argued with people that he was a "good man." He'd learned since then that what made for "good" and "bad" in men was often purely difficult to discern, varied by culture, mantra or belief system. Hell, look at these Imperials for one. All rushing about taking over worlds as if doing them a damn favor, until it seemed they actually believed that crap. So why concern himself in the least over the welfare of any single slave, anywhere? That was simply the way of things, and boo hoo, right?

And yet. There he was, studying the boy as if trying to discern what there was to him that made him such a contradiction to every rule of thumb or common sense ideal that had worked to save him throughout the years. Not like the boy was overly unique. As human as Wicks himself, even. Albeit young. Couldn't be more than thirteen, he estimated. He was lanky enough at least. Wicks twisted his lips as he considered the frame the boy would grow into, one that would have ladies panting in the years to come, he'd wager. If only he wasn't enslaved, of course. His hair was black as the space Wicks flew through, like ebony wood charred by the hottest fire, gleaming.

And then the boy slanted a sharp glance towards Wicks himself. His eyes! Like the most brilliant blue gems, shimmering jewels that were highlighted by thick inky lashes. They didn't even look natural for just a moment. Then the boy dropped his gaze, and Wicks frowned. Another practiced motion, that. He wasn't looking to nab anyone's attention, not this boy. He certainly didn't want to be standing here in this damn cantina, either, and Wicks turned back to Miloh with a nasty grin.

"The kid the only one you're able to jerk around, huh?" The captain leaned forward against the edge of the table where his half-eaten supper was congealing in the cool air of the night time hours. "I'm so not impressed, believe me."

Miloh continued to look like he'd sucked on something bitter and sour. But he shrugged as if unconcerned. "How I handle my property is none of your concern. I have a proposition to make, is all."

Wicks dropped his attention down at his plate, raising his spoon to shovel some buttered tubers against his palate. "Told you. I'm looking to offload some hydroregulators before getting my ass out off the Kumat Aegit and back to friendlier space."

"And I told you. I have a buyer for the item already. All you'd have to provide is transport. You take the thing to the buyer, hand it over, job's done."

Wicks smoothed a hard gaze against Miloh's stiff figure. "A Jedi, you said. I'm no idiot, Miloh Uxe. Things like that you want me to fly off this hunk of rock, to carry over to a damn Jedi - those are the kinds of things that do bad things to ship captains. I've heard stories enough to stay away from shit like that."

Miloh shrugged his thin shoulders. "That's what the boy's for. He can safely carry the thing, only one I've seen these past few weeks that managed it. Hell, two of my best slave handlers lost their damn minds within hours of handling the thing. But Gaibriel here was able to keep it safely in hand this entire while. I'm sure he can help you hand it over to my buyer."

Wicks looked towards the boy again, rolling his name through his mind several times. Gaibriel. The name meant "hero of the gods" or "he who is my strength". Certainly not a name that fit any slave, he thought. He raised an eyebrow towards Miloh, "Why not sell it to your own Sith? Sure they'd be eager to get one of their pretty baubles back."

Miloh blanched, until his skin looked the palest, white paste. "Errr ... the Sith, yes. Well. Just ... this particular buyer offered a better price."

Wicks laughed loudly. "What you mean to say, actually, is the Sith will skin your hide if they find out you've been sending your slaves rooting around their ruins. While the Jedi will actually purchase a relic, rather than the gems you normally scrounge down there. Am I right?"

Miloh flushed red with temper. He clenched his teeth. Wicks supposed it was a good thing the man needed his help, otherwise he'd have bitten off some pointed curses. If not stomped away without looking back. His own luck that Wicks was the only freighter captain on Jaguada right now that could enter Republic space without being confronted and searched, from top to bottom of his ship. He caught the look in the boy's eyes just then, saw Gaibriel rolling his eyes as he stuck his tongue out towards Miloh's back. Wicks grunted to cover his near laugh, but he barked when Miloh started to turn and look at the boy again.

"What's the pay, then? Cause I'm sure as shit not going to be flying anywhere with your stuff, if the price isn't worth the effort. Have to pull some strings, probably, just to get it into Pub space." Wicks canted his head to the side as he thought. Miloh named a sum just then, one that made Wicks look at him in surprise. "You serious? Why?"

"For your trouble, of course."

Wicks leaned back, thoughtful again. He waved a hand towards Gaibriel suddenly, "Come here, kid." The boy looked towards Miloh, who gestured impatiently enough. So Gaibriel edged his way closer to the captain, leery of the big man's interest. He didn't like it when someone was interested in him, anyway. Bad things happened when people even looked twice in his direction. But he accepted the captain's touch, his hand against his chin that turned his face up for a pointed examination of his every feature. Gaib only gasped softly at the man's motion.

Wicks grunted, rubbing one finger across Gaibriel's upper lip, "He's a spicer."

"Yea, and so what? You need a supply of the stuff to get him to where he needs to be, then?"

Wicks glared at Miloh. "Don't hold with spice being used on my ship."

Miloh shrugged unconcernedly enough. "Then don't give him any. I'm sure the craving will wear off eventually."

Wicks just stared at the man, his hand still grasping the now trembling chin of the boy in front of him. No fool, this boy, Wicks thought. He knew exactly what would come of the man's suggestion. It made him wonder why the boy had started ingesting spice if he was that aware, really. But then ... he looked into the boy's eyes, looked hard. And saw it. The hopelessness, the loneliness. _What are you looking for, that you believe you'll never find, kid_, Wicks wondered. "Gonna assume you're not really aware how much that will hurt, Uxe. Nor even how much work it'll take me to get him cleaned up. Cause I swear. If I put myself out that far, this kid won't be returned to you. Understand me?"

"Your price will be substantially less if you keep the boy. He's one of my best finders. He's the one that discovered the device, in fact."

Wicks nodded, his gaze focused on the hard, terrible look in Gaibriel's sapphire-hued eyes. "Just so we understand each other, Miloh. He'll not be coming back to Sith space."

* * *

**There were actually many different forms of spice used and abused throughout the Star Wars galaxy. The term referred, in fact, to a variety of different mind-altering drugs. The world of Kessel was rich in Spice, with slave labor used to harvest large supplies of _ryll_ and, the most expensive, _glitterstim_. The drug was produced from the secretions of energy spiders on that world, and gathering it was very dangerous. The spiders could drain a man's life energy in seconds. Or the threads themselves were sharp enough to slice off fingers that moved too quick gathering them up.**

**_Giggledust_ was a Spice variant, though, that came from flowers rather than spiders. It produced a sense of euphoria in its users, until everything seemed humorous, even the most dire of circumstances. It also heightened a user's sense of alertness, so that some soldiers used the stuff before marching into battle.**

**It made sense to me, that Gaibriel would rely upon various devices to get him through years of aching slavery. So I provided him an outlet, here, in the form of _giggledust_. Won't be allowed to keep it, though. Poor Gaib. **

**I deliberately made it a bit confusing, per Gaibriel's age here in this chapter. I wanted to emphasize Gaibriel's lack of good, healthy living by making it difficult for Wicks to determine the truth of Gaib's age. To be clear, Gaibriel is fourteen at this point. But he's overly thin at the moment. Poor diet and drug use has kept him from really filling out. He'll eventually make up for it.**


	3. Chapter 2 -- It hurts!

He drifted, mindless. Colors swirled over his head, through his line of sight, until it all blurred into a mess of confused thoughts, strange dreams and sounds. Where am I, he cried out. What's happening? His gut twisted, cramped, and he curled over onto his side, tears streaming down his face as he cried pitifully, "Make it stop!"

"Here. Drink this." The voice wasn't familiar and it added to the strange cacophony in his pained and twisted reality. A face suspended over his own, with black eyes set deep under thick, bushy eyebrows. Brown hair spiked up into a messy tangles, as if the man had been running his fingers through the thick length. You're worried, about what? "Drink this, kid. Yea, I'm worried about you. Need to get some liquid down your throat. Drink!"

He felt the trickle of water against his parched lips, drank down the cool liquid while the man hummed with satisfaction. Then his stomach knotted again, like someone had taken hold of his intestines deep down inside and took to pulling and twisting them back and forth, and he screamed. Everything turned black.

_The rain slapped him in the face as he stood behind his mother, watching the front of the spaceport doors where the big men were waiting. Tamerie's light brown braids swung against her shoulders as she shook her head wearily, whispering sadly, "Damn you, Karen." Kastiel whimpered what sounded like an apology, "Sorry!" She darted forward suddenly, ignoring Tamerie's startled gasp, "No! Kas!"_

_He watched, horrified, as his sister ran towards the men, leaping at them to start pummeling with her little fists as hard as she could. Tamerie spun around, grabbing against his shoulders, so that he looked up into her blue eyes. Deep blue, like the dusky sky over Kaas City, his father used to say, fondly. She shook him, adamant, "Gaib! You take Cam and you hide! Do you hear me? You hide! I'll do my best to find you. Now go!"_

_Camiel cried out, "No! Mam, no!" But Tamerie was gone, rushing towards the violent group with intent purpose, yelling at the men to let loose her daughter. Kastiel was suspended in the air, held up in the meaty fist of one of the large men. He was shaking her back and forth, while she choked, her gurgling cries filling the air. He stood frozen in terrified fascination for several long, painful moments. Then he moved._

Gaibriel gasped, rolling onto his side as a large hand guided his head over a large metal bucket of some kind. He vomited endlessly, crying loudly, "It hurts! Bad!"

"I know, kid. I know. Get it all out, now, and we'll replace it with some good stuff. Real food. No more of the dust, huh? That's what you've been using, isn't it?"

Gaib turned away, his eyes feeling gritty and strange, as colors continued to swirl in streams of strange dissonance in front of his face. The man was still there, his dark eyes peering down at him. He blinked up at him wearily, "Look sorta like my father. But yer not. He's dead, I think."

"He is, huh? Why do you think so?"

"He would've come for us, found us. He's a hero! Fought the Republic at Coruscant! But … can't tell anyone. His wife … she's mad, she'll kill us!"

The man shook his head sadly. "I'll not tell anyone, kid. Swear it."

Gaibriel looked up at him through watery eyes, watched the man's face blur into weird shapes. "Why … can't believe you. I'm nothing! Better … just give up."

The man leaned forward, his gaze heavy, serious and intent. "I didn't bust my balls these last three days now for _nothing_! So don't ever tell me again any piece of shit about giving up. We've got better things to do than sit here while you puke out your guts. I mean it! Better than this!"

Gaibriel turned his head away as another cramp ripped through his stomach. He looked down the length of his torso, aching with tiredness. He blinked, saw his skin wriggling, like there was something bad inside of his body, moving inside. Bugs! He was infested with bugs! He began scratching at his skin, screaming. The man cursed loudly, grabbing him up to hold him against his own large chest, holding him tightly so that he couldn't tear his own skin to shreds, while Gaib screamed and screamed and screamed.

_His mother lay in a bloody heap against the ground. So much blood, he thought. He could feel the whimper of shock and pain welling up inside, the terror of the moment, "_They're gone. They're gone_." People moved around them, flurries of motion, weary attempts for wounded people to drag themselves upright once again and cries of pain when they couldn't. _

_He watched, bemused, as the young blonde boy who'd huddled behind the crate with them trotted around the mess and debris, hunting among the lumps of smoking ruin for any signs of life._

_But all Gaibriel saw was the shattered remnant that used to be his mother, his sister. He whispered, "Mam. Kas." But no one heard, no one cared. He was utterly terrified, screaming inside his head, and no one even cared! No one came to help, no one offered a single hand, no grown-up person even saw him standing there, frozen._

_Then Camiel slid her little hand into his, and he looked at her. She was tugging at him, insisting, "We can't stop, Gaib! Come on!" And he let her pull him through the doors of the spaceport._

There were voices arguing over his head. He cracked open his eyes, looking up to take in the man – Duncan! His name was Duncan, he remembered suddenly – Wicks Duncan standing there directing the motions of a slim figure, a man dressed in a pilot's uniform, who was leaning down over Gaibriel's weak form on the bed. His dark-skinned face was liberally covered in a bright, garish tattoo, the edges curling up and over his brow.

"Nikki, damn it! You're fucking bruising him, on top of everything else. Why the hell aren't you flying the damn ship, for crying out loud?"

"Shut up, Wicks. If you don't get food down his young gullet, he's going to die right here on this fucking-ass gross bed. Go get me some damn clean sheets, for crying out loud! Boy isn't going to improve laying in puddles of sweat. And puke, too, from the looks of it."

Gaibriel saw Wicks moving away, so that his face disappeared from over him. He whimpered as a curl of pain winged its way through his empty stomach. The man snapped his gaze back to Gaib's face, saw his blue eyes were barely open, and smiled. "Well, now. Looks like you're aware. That's a good sign, heh."

"Water."

"Course." Andronikus turned, reaching for a fiberplastic cup set on a nearby table that had been kept full of fresh water through the course of the past week. He held the cup up to Gaibriel's lips, motioning for him to drink. "Down it all, if you can. Been sweating up a storm. Here's hoping you got all the dust out of your system, at least."

Gaibriel shuddered, "Dust. No. No dust."

Andronikus chuckled sourly. "Yea. Kind of hard to think about poisoning yourself anymore after a week spent puking and sweating it out, I bet. Just don't puke on _me_, okay? Wait till Wicks comes back. Puke on him, for asking me to come here and help with the piloting. Damn do-gooder piece of work, here, if you ask me."

Gaibriel's response came out dry and scratchy. But it still revealed Gaibriel's intrinsic nature to the young pilot. "If I was to ask you, it would be why the hell you thought beating me with a stick while I was passed out, here, was worth your time. More fun flying ships around, isn't it?"

Andronikus laughed, a real hearty bellow of laughter as he regarded the boy's weak, abused frame there on the bed. He canted his head to the side as he looked at him, studied him. There was just something about his eyes, he thought. "Yea, 'magine you're feeling like a punching bag right now. Again, though. If you're going to blame anyone, blame Wicks. Better that way, believe me."

"Leave off, Nikki. Go fly away somewhere. You're good at that." Wicks reappeared, looking down at Gaibriel as he dropped a pile of fresh sheets and covers onto the chair nearby the bed. "You're gonna eat something, Gaibriel Shorn. You hear me?"

Gaibriel's gaze sharpened, looking like polished glass as he glared at the captain. "Not … don't call me that. Just … Gaib."

Wicks crossed his arms across his chest, staring at him in silent reproach. "Where we're going you can't be Just Gaib. Doesn't work like that."

Gaibriel pursed his lips tightly, thoughtful. He turned his gaze away from the two men, "I'm tired."

Wicks stood there, quiet and contemplative. Andronikus leaned against one of the nearby walls, smiling with amusement at the silent battle of wills between the captain and the boy. But he stumbled back to a straight position when Wicks finally nodded his head firmly, adamantly asserting, "Call yourself Duncan, then. Most people will assume you're mine, regardless. Might as well get us off on the right foot from the start, huh?"

_He stared up at the looming figure of the beefy ship's captain with wide, terrified eyes. The man was human, of course. His hair hung down to his shoulders in a series of twisted blonde braids that circled his large head. He was wearing a grease-splattered set of overalls to cover his bulging belly as he harrumphed down at them, where they huddled behind a series of boxes and crates there in the cargo hold._

_A week's worth of hiding and scrounging. All undone, by nothing so much as the scrape of Gaibriel's shoe against the side of a box. He shook in terror as he looked up a the man._

_"Well. Look at why my stores are running spare so quick. Stiven! Come get these little rats out of my cargo hold!" The man leaned down close enough to glare hard into the five year-old boy's frozen face, "Yer gonna pay for every damn thing you've nabbed from the mess during these past days, rat. Two like you should make for a decent enough sale."_

"Why, Wicks? What is it about this boy?" Andronikus leaned his hip against a console as he stared at the captain, confused.

Wicks just chuckled, as he leaned down over the galaxy map to plot a course to the Fleet where Andronikus could return to his unit. "Hey, if you manage to figure it out, let me know. That kid's been befuddling every decision-making process in my head for days on end. At least now that he's up, I can get a move on to this drop off."

Andronikus peered out the viewscreen of the bridge with a pensive expression. "There's something about him …"

Wicks sighed, straightening up so he could look over at his long-time friend. "For now, it's enough that I like him. He's a fighter, Nikki. Kid like that doesn't belong with a fucking collar around his neck."


	4. Chapter 3 -- Don't Belong

Gaibriel slapped against the sensitive skin of his neck, smashing the stupid insect that had been slowly sucking his blood up against the soft spot just under his ear. He examined the remains, smooshed there on the lower pad of his left hand, trying to determine its form and shape. But crushed as it was, he couldn't be certain what the hell it had looked like before he killed it. He thought, maybe, he could discern a long pair of thin, slender wings. But they had a far more leather-like appearance than he was accustomed to in normal insects.

Although, as he thought on the question, what really counted as a normal insect after surviving so many different planets? It occured to him he continued to judge everything he came across up against his earliest years, back on Dromund Kaas. And that seemed funny, somehow. There certainly was no real reason to feel some kind of appreciation for that world. He was grateful the place was far away, far distant, as much in his memory as anything else.

But the rain kept falling, there against the dark sky of this new place. Wicks called it Belkadan, a swampy world from what Gaib could see. The rain reminded him of Dromund Kaas. Actually, the dark, scary-looking trees did, too. But it was the rain that splattered against his face, sliding wetly down his angular jaw through the open collar of the jacket Wicks tucked around his slender frame earlier, that made him think of his homeworld. The rain felt cool against his skin, a refreshing change from the heat earlier in the day, and he sighed as his memory sparked, an image sliding through his mind.

Kastiel, her thick, black braids hanging down against her back as she jumped from puddle to puddle, rushing through the falling rain, years back on Dromund Kaas. She'd loved the rain, he recalled. Gods. He missed his sisters. Gaibriel shook his dark head, refusing the memory, refusing to think how much he'd lost. The wall was still there, in his mind, anyway. Firm, strong. He mentally smoothed a single touch across its surface, aching, hurting like a deep bruise that never stopped. The energy of the barrier was palpable, though, something that simply couldn't be hidden. So he knew that Camiel was still living, breathing. Somewhere. Just ... far apart from him.

The pain of it slid through him yet again, so that he suddenly wanted a sniff, just a sniff. The thought, however, caused his stomach to tighten and cramp with remembered distress. Gaibriel gasped as his mouth washed wet with moisture, the spit gathering as he came so close to tossing the contents of his stomach there against the soggy ground. He leaned over slightly, silently wondering if he'd be able to bite back the nausea on his own. And where the hell was Wicks, by the by?

He heard a hissing noise suddenly, so that he spun around in quick readiness, his hands held up as he prepared to defend himself. He stared, almost stunned as he took in the red scales of what could only be a Trandoshan.

Well, that's something new, at least, he thought. The thing was still hissing at him, too. Funny shit. He wondered with amusement how many pairs of boots the thing could be made into. "Young human. I believed it was not common, for humans to send their young ones off alone. Is this not true?"

Gaibriel twisted a grin in the Trandoshan's direction. "Oh, I'm not alone. I'm accompanied by dozens of tough, angry warriors. Not so young, either. I'm really a wizened old biddy of a human. Unless you imagine your experience with humans is just that damn small, huh?"

The lizard-like man canted his head slightly, silent for a long moment as he examined the youth, from the top of his dark head all the way down to his feet, where the boots were sinking slightly into the mud underneath his feet. Gaibriel set his face into a properly serious expression, staring back at him. "Your years are few, I think. But you are bigger than you seem at first. Not alone, either, even if there are no dozens warriors to defend you. You're not used to being defended, either. You speak sounds like those in the Empire. They are not so able to keep their young ones safe, there, I don't think." He twisted his head around, looking hard. " I don't think common is a word to be given to you."

Gaibriel frowned, then. The reptile saw a lot of things. Made him uneasy all of a sudden. And that was even before the woman showed up, too. "Qyzen! You've returned safely, I see. Was your hunt successful?" Gaib examined the human woman striding towards them, there on the edge of the little camp set among a series of ruins. Of course there were ruins. There were always ruins, he thought. Although he supposed that these particular ruins weren't much similar to the ones he was accustomed to. Not Sith, he didn't think. He certainly didn't recognize the symbols carved into the stones dotting the sodden landscape, anyway.

The woman wore a series of robes, mostly brown and beige. They should've made her look nondescript, ordinary even. But there was a sense to her, something that went beyond what he would've expected in a human. She was ... different. She patted the Trandoshan on the arm as she came close enough, smiling widely at him in what seemed to be genuine fondness. Gaib couldn't tell if the lizard smiled back at her, of course. Weird guy, he thought, shrugging silently. But the woman turned to him, then, giving her attention completely to Gaibriel himself.

They stared at each other, quiet for several long moments. The Trandoshan, the one she called Qyzen, bounced his attention back and forth between them, looking at the young human, then the woman. And back again. The woman was older, with several wrinkles marking the corners of her light brown eyes. Her dark brown-red hair was pulled back into a long tail that brushed the tops of her shoulders. She sighed, finally. "And you? You look very nearly ill, young man. Are you nauseous? Force, it's true the insects on this world can be vicious. Have they made you sick?"

Gaib shook his head, smiling through his bemusement. "You afraid I'm gonna puke all over your boots?"

The woman's smile grew even longer, "Not at all. Only not certain what sort of treatment I could provide you, that would have you come all this way to visit me."

"You a healer?"

"I am Jedi." She chuckled softly as she watched the expressions crossing his face. "There are many in this region of space, who get that same look on their face when I introduce myself. I find it amusing, somehow."

Gaibriel shrugged lightly. "Better than Sith, I've heard. Not saying much, though."

Qyzen hissed some more. "Yuon should ask the young one for his business, here. Judge him for whatever threat he offers." Gaib found the sound of his language particularly amusing, so that every word he offered became something to laugh at. He didnt imagine the man appreciated being laughed at, however. Gaib laughed at him anyway.

"Yuon? Is that your name? Or is it some title the lizards use to describe you Jedi?"

She smiled at him. He wondered, suddenly, if there was any way to disrupt her endless sense of cheer and pleasing. It was disconcerting, in a way his own inveterate humor wasn't, even. He certainly didn't feel like laughing at _her_. Force-users were strange, he decided. "I am called Yuon Par, actually. Qyzen, here, has become something of a friend." She leaned closer to the young man. "I believe he's decided, finally, that I'm not here to steal his hunt targets."

The Trandoshan waved a heavy hand in Gaib's direction. "You have not discovered his purpose, here, Yuon."

"There is no need to rush the boy, Qyzen. Things come in their own time, after all." She smiled at him, leaving Gaibriel to shake his head all over again. "You do look like you're not feeling well, mind you. Are you certain you're not sick? The insects are particularly bothersome, here, I know."

"He's not sick enough to stay where he's bloody-well told to stay, just wandering around damn swamps all on his own. I figure he'll do pretty good getting over his sore stomach, even without a Jedi prodding at the thing." Gaibriel tossed Wicks the sort of grin that told him his wandering away from the path was almost certainly quite deliberate, watching as the smuggler captain ambled out from the shadowed depths of the nearby swamp. Wicks sighed, reaching one hand up to rub wearily against the back of his neck. Gaib could just make out the marks on Wick's neck, too, where the bugs had been feasting happily apparently. _Hey, they matched_, he thought, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "Forget it, Gaib. Not one damn sound. I'll yell at you later, damn it."

Yuon watched the byplay with vague curiosity. "Duncan? Is that your name? You were bringing an item for me, I believe."

Wicks nodded. "Yea. The kid's carrying it." He gestured towards Gaibriel's pack, slung against his slender back. Gaib released the straps, so that the thing plopped sullenly against the ground. The energy of the thing he was carrying slipped away, until he felt lighter, freer. But the Jedi was moving towards the thing, the ugly thing that was still tucked up inside the sack.

Gaibriel spoke seriously, for the first time. "It's pissed off. Careful."

Yuon stopped, looking at him with frank appraisal. She found the subtle resonance of an Imperial accent in the youth's voice rather pleasing, thought it sad he'd probably lose it given time. Whatever ties he had to his home as the days turned to weeks and years would slowly disappear, until he was grown and such things were far off even from his remembering. "You can tell? You can feel it, its energy? Enough to identify it?"

Wicks stepped alongside Gaibriel, frowning at the Jedi. His black eyes glittered dangerously, "He's no damn Jedi. Trust me, I'd know. A Jedi would've done strange shit to me when he was so sick as a dog as this boy was, would've tossed some sort of crap at my head maybe."

Yuon Par nodded. "I tend to believe some of us are only sensitive to the energies of the Force, while not actually using it, rather. Don't be fearful I'll take your boy from you."

Wicks tossed Gaibriel a hard look, daring him to deny the kinship the woman assumed they shared together. Gaib looked away, staying silent even as the denial whipped through his frame. He refused to ask for any sort of belonging, certainly wouldn't expect it. He was a mere thing, tossed whilly-nilly through the hands of various owners. That was all. He'd be a fool to forget it. And even if he came off a fool when he was tossing droll comments all around, the truth was Gaibriel was far, far from being a true fool.

"Regardless. Let me examine this device of yours, perhaps." Yuon reached down to pluck and pull against the pack until she'd revealed the thing to her senses, ignoring the sense of discomfort from everyone standing there. Except the boy. He watched her, as if waiting for her to recoil or otherwise struggle against the power of the artifact. But she only smiled back at him, secure in her defenses against the power that pulsed so darkly from the device that was nestled there, all wrapped up to hide it away. "You're right, young man. There's a great deal of malevolent anger invested in the device." She glanced at Wicks, frowning. "Payment will be allotted to your accounts, captain, I assure you, for the dangers of your journey, here. But I must secure this thing quickly."

Wicks waved towards Gaibriel, waiting silently as the kid wandered slowly to stand just behind him. He came close to grasping his shoulder supportingly but knew that Gaib wouldn't accept it. So he tucked his hand solidly into his upper thigh, trying to deny he'd even been tempted to make the gesture.

The Jedi reached out to him, quickly, laying a slender hand against his wrist before they could start moving away. She leaned closer, whispering quietly to him, so that Gaibriel couldn't hear what she said, "He's still healing. Some of the wounds will disappear, as he grows more secure with you. Most will only scar over, twinging now and then over the years. Fears, pains, doubts – they'll persist in him, until he chooses a path that helps him to overcome them entirely." She smiled then. "He's stronger than even he knows, though. He'll eventually find what he's looking for."

Wicks frowned at her, looking flummoxed. "What the hell's he looking for, though?"

"What he's lost."

Wicks Duncan stood there, quietly watching as the Jedi moved away, her attention firmly on the small bundle of cloth that wrapped the thing he'd carefully ferried to her, there in the damp swamps and ruins of this world. The reptilian Trandoshan followed along behind her, hissing under his breath. Wicks shook his head, frustrated, as Gaibriel stepped closer. He looked over at the kid, chuckling, "Gaib, let me tell you something. Never count on a Jedi. Not for anything. Except credits maybe. They're pretty good about paying for whatever you're selling them. That's about it. All they manage to do, otherwise, is confuse the shit out of a man."

"How's that different from the Sith?"

"Honestly don't believe they're really so far apart as they like to claim, actually."


	5. Chapter 4 -- Growing up too fast

Wicks grumbled sourly when the slight Mirialan stumbled drunkenly against him, reaching out to steady the man before he fell over onto the floor of the cantina in one foul swoop. The man jerked his gaze up, looking at Wicks with a confused, dazed expression in his narrow green eyes, just before clapping one pale yellow hand across his dark lips. Wicks glared at him, "You puke on me, and I'll boot you clear across the room, to hell with keeping you from falling over." He watched as the fellow panted, swallowing convulsively. The effort at the very least kept him steady enough on his feet that Wicks was able to let go of him and step out of his way.

He sidled around the drunkard, moving steadily towards the nearby stairwell, mumbling the entire way. "He's gonna get me killed one of these days, I just know it. Never stops to think past his frickin' crotch. Just sees a pretty face and jumps head-long into disaster. Why me? Why do I have to get strung along on these little adventures of his, huh? For just once, can't anything be easy?" Wicks leaped along the length of stairs, loping easily despite his big-boned frame, just balancing himself as he reached the top. He ignored the saucy grin from one of the whores leaning against a nearby open doorway in the long hallway, stopping only to ask her if she'd caught sight of a youngish human with shaggy black hair.

She tossed back her dark green head, so that her bottle-dyed blonde hair swung along the plump curves of her ass. "_Had_ black hair, more like. I fixed him up good. He went that way," she thumbed towards one of the doors at the end of the hallway. Of course it would be at the long end of the hallway, he thought bitterly. Can't be nearby the stairs and make it even a bit easier for him, now can he? He started to walk down the hallway before stopping to look back at the prostitute with another glare.

"What color's his hair now then?"

"Striped, actually. He went with purple stripes."

"Purple? For the love of Space ..." Wicks stomped down the hall, his large boots creating a cacophony in his wake loud enough a couple of calls came from some of the rooms he passed, demanding he shut the hell up. He yelled back, "Concentrate on your fucking! You need the practice if my walking along is all that frustrates you!" Several loud curses resounded through the space, along with a couple of feminine giggles. He ignored the lot of them, searching for the door the little prostitute had described. "Do-gooder nonsense, that's what it is. You'd think after my reminding him every damn day, it would sink in. But I tell him, look what ends up happening as soon as you try to give someone a hands-up. Get stuck chasing after a crazed little punk still trying to feel out where he fits in this busted-up universe. And does he listen? Hell no!"

Wicks stopped in front of the designated door, glaring at it. Then he sighed, knowing he'd be hard-pressed to even criticize the kid. Would be different if Gaib had continued traveling along the same self-destructive path he'd been on when Wicks won him from the grasp of that stupid human chump waving him around like a damn prize back on Jaguada. But Gaib avoided the spice, now. Avoided it like it was the Gamorrean Rot, like he'd heave just at the sight of it. Instead, he seemed to press the limits and boundaries of this freedom Wicks continued to assure him of over and over again, like he was trying to figure out what it was and how it worked. Until it was like their own private mantra. That the way to freedom was through the stars, that no one could take it from him so long as he had the means to fly off, to get far off from any who'd steal it from him. Not that it stopped Gaibriel from testing its limits, though.

Figures, he sighed again. Then Wicks reached out to shove open the door, stepping across the threshold as he glanced around quickly. He managed to see Gaibriel all right. Gaib jerked awake from his slumped position over a table nearby a closed window. There were sleep-lines pressed into his face where he'd slept with his head lying across various machine parts still scattered across the table. The little Mirialan female he'd probably fucked before he settled down to play with ... whatever he'd been putting together, there, actually ... she sat up fast, there in the bed, her dark hair spinning around her green face as she gasped loudly.

Wicks took in the entire room at a glance, looked fast. Not fast enough, though. Should've known better, really. But the chirps that sounded as two tiny droids swirled up and around to meet him managed to catch him off-guard, all the same. The small spheres sounded a series of alarmed squawks, trilling tinnily, "You are not permitted entry! Forbidden! You are not allowed here!" He barked at the things, "Leave off, you shits!" He tried waving them off, but they warbled some new nonsense about "defensive motions" and turned bright, glaring red. He blanched, until his normally golden tan complexion looked pasty, and tried to duck. Again, not fast enough.

Wicks roared when the liquid sprayed into his face. Caught him square in the eyes. The crap was gelatinous, to boot. It adhered to the upper part of his face, so that he stumbled back as he tried wiping it out of his sight. He spun around sharply, certain the little monstrous devices would have some other vicious attack to offer. Because he knew Gaib well enough to figure he would've programmed the devices with something far worse than goop in the eyes. He rushed forward to get away before they zapped him, or something. That's the only reason he ran face first into the doorjamb, he'd declare later on to anyone who caught sight of the scar. He was just trying to get away!

Whatever the reason, he ran face first into the doorjamb instead, hard. The thud reverberated through the space, producing a loud enough thunk it even caught him by surprise. He dully wondered, as he was falling, if the sound came from the door or from his head. Then he realized he was lying straight on his back, looking up towards the pale creamy blankness of the room's ceiling. Or trying to, at least. Because he couldn't really see! He felt like crying, except there was still sticky crap in his eyes and he wasn't sure tears would be able to get around it. Although maybe if the stuff became wet, he'd manage to loosen it enough to wipe it away.

He could hear Gaibriel, though. He was yelling a series of commands that got his little toys off Wicks' pitiful backside. Then there was a shadow leaning over his head, and Wicks knew Gaib was talking to him. Probably saying something important. But Wicks could only lay there and breathe in several long, hard breaths as he worked to calm down the ringing in his ears. Not mentioning the pounding throb in the front of his head, centered on his face, either. That's when a cloth fell down wetly over his face, covering his nose and mouth in a great sodden heap. Wicks yelped wetly as he suddenly lost the ability to breathe, too, and he thrashed there against the floor. It was Gaib who preserved his life, then, because the kid reached out to yank the cloth off his face, arguing with Wicks' new tormentor, "Come on! He can't fucking breathe when you do it that way!"

"Well, I was only trying to help, geez!"

"I know that, sweetheart. But you've got to be more careful!" Gaib paused, then. "Hey, at least we know the droids work, huh?"

Wicks groaned, "Please stop. Please, for the love of Space. Don't. Say. Another. Word."

He could say a lot of things to describe Gaibriel. That he was circumspect in his speech wasn't one of them. The kid leaned over Wicks sore, aching head all over again, the blurry shadow of his head obvious enough even through the goo that still saturated Wicks' eyes and brows. "Ah, but that was the best bit of show I've seen in a long time, Wicks. Your face made the most incredible sound when it hit the wall! Can you do it again?"

Wicks groaned and closed his eyes wearily, neatly shutting out anymore of Gaibriel's inanity. Maybe if he didn't see the grin on his face, it wouldn't hurt so much. So he lay there, breathing. Just breathing. He ignored everything else, which was probably good. If he concentrated on the sounds of Gaibriel pulling pants up to cover up the brief look of his bare ass Wicks had caught sight of before the droids sprayed crap into his eyes, he'd probably lose the last semblance of control he had over his temper. He cracked open an eye only when he felt that Gaib had returned to kneel next to him, to rub some kind of ointment across his face. With his one eye peeled, he still managed a really spiffy glare at the kid, "This is completely your fault."

"Hey! No such thing! I was just laying my head down on the table over there, for like five minutes, and you came busting into the room. This is so not on me!" He paused, obviously thinking. "Not this time, at least."

Wicks pointed a finger up at him, absurdly, considering his prone position on his back there on the floor, anyway. Gaib didn't even try to keep from laughing, utterly disregarding the captain's stern warning from behind his pointed finger. "Forget for only a moment I just found your sixteen year-old ass in a whore's bedroom - in a whorehouse on the seedier side of this damn town, I might add - and this is after getting bitched at by the mayor, who's promising to tattoo a warning across my face that will keep me from trading anywhere on the entire stupid planet of Mirial, because you helped his daughter run off two nights ago. Really, Gaib? I bet you slept with her before putting her on that transport, too."

The Mirialan prostitute burbled suddenly, "You're not truly too young, are you, Gaib?" Wicks was gratified to see she looked duly concerned. Gaibriel was shaking his head, but Wicks grumbled over anything he might have said.

"He's too damn precocious is what he is!"

Gaibriel snorted, "I'm no child, too stupid to know better, you mean." He crossed his arms over his chest, taking on that stubborn stance that showed Wicks he was fast digging his heels in, determined to test the line that was his freedom all over again. Wicks sighed, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes. Damn kid.

"This argument is getting old, Gaib."

"Hey, you're the one who keeps making it. Don't know why you keep at it."

Wicks heaved a gusty sigh, "Most sixteen year-olds wouldn't even know how to find a damn whorehouse, Gaibriel."

"I'm not most sixteen year-olds."

"Gods, don't I know it. Sometimes I wonder about you, Gaib, seriously."

"What's to wonder? What you see's what you get, huh?"

Wicks rolled his eyes, something he did often where Gaibriel was concerned. But he didn't say anything else along that particular line. Gaib's accent no longer hinted at his Imperial heritage, not after following after Wicks' adventuring ass for two years now. Something he was glad of, if only because people didn't look askance at them whenever Gaib inevitably made a smart-ass remark or another right there in the middle of some sort of transaction they were working with a client. Arguing over what was _obvious_ about him was just an outrageous endeavor, though, since he was so obviously _anything_ but what he presented to those watching. He only reached up to rub tiredly against the lump in the center of his forehead. "Am I bleeding, too?"

Gaibriel nodded. "Yep. Pretty bad, too. Imagine you'll have a really neat scar up there eventually. You want me to lie to the women who ask, tell them it was some incredible event maybe. Like ... hey, we could tell them some Mando swiped one of those big swords across your head, nearly took it off with one swing!" He leaned back onto the heels of his bare feet. Wicks sighed, leaning up onto his elbows as he looked around the room again. The tiny Mirialan woman ambled over towards Gaibriel all of a sudden, holding up one of those bastard droids. Wicks shuddered as the thing reflected a bit of light, gleaming brightly in the early morning light coming in through the windows.

"It worked! Oh, you don't know how much I appreciate this!" She actually hugged the droid closer to her cone-shaped breasts. Wicks gazed at her with an bewildered expression. He shook his head as she leaned over and grabbed at Gaib's head, pulling him into a overtly seductive hold, her bright green lips pressed firmly against his mouth. Her slender hand swept down across his lanky chest, rubbing against his abdomen so softly, before dipping down into the front of his pants, where the front still gaped open.

"Excuse me. I am still laying _here_. On the floor. Right in front of you. Where I didn't ask to be. And where I'm so not interested in seeing what's inside Gaib's pants!" Wicks sighed, laying his head back down to look back up at the ceiling while he wondered how he'd managed to find himself in such an ignoble position, where the females chased after the kid he'd adopted rather than his own damn self. He eyed Gaibriel as he patted the green-skinned woman on her back before climbing back to his feet, gesturing for her to follow him. She trotted after him happily enough, kissing him one more time before he waved her out the door. Wicks stared after her, "You made her a droid?"

"Yep. Managed to earn me several very enjoyable hours, too. Seems there's no sort of security, here, to keep her from being bothered by so-called customers who want some after-hours entertainments. Unpaid for, I might add. Figured I'd help her out." Gaibriel reached down to grasp Wicks' outstretched hand before pulling him up to wobble unsteadily on his own two feet. Wicks stumbled towards the nearby refresher, carefully cleaning his face free of the glop Gaib's little droids had spat at him so easily. He leaned forward to examine his eyes for any sort of permanent damage but they seemed fine enough, minus some serious redness from irritation.

Gaibriel suddenly yanked his head around, ignoring Wicks' yelping as he probed against the blood oozing from the laceration in the middle of his forehead. "Not too bad. A kolto-bandage should stop the bleeding. Want me to stitch it up?" Wicks shook his head. Not that he doubted Gaib's skill. The kid was a natural healer, quite literally born to it, he thought. It was more a rush for time that made him gesture impatiently for the bandage, rather than a scar-saving knit of his torn skin. He waited, while Gaibriel eased the bandage across the gash. Wicks followed him, then, as Gaib left the refresher and began gathering his things together. Wicks watched him, leaning against one solid boot, there along the wall.

"Curious, here. But what happens after the droid spits shit in your eyes?" Wicks probed the tender flesh under his eyes as he considered. Gaibriel shot him a rather saucy grin, the one that never failed to send Wicks' stomach into summersaults.

"Paralysis dart. Honestly, I'm glad I managed to keep that level of security from activating, because hauling your big ass down the stairs would've been a real pain." Gaibriel sat down on the nearby chair where he began pulling on his boots, lacing them up along the sides very carefully. Wicks examined the youth's growing frame, the toned muscles he was developing, what with all the time he spent running around the circle of the freighter they called home. That, and the loading he managed whenever they took on a new cargo, of course. His skin was taking on a healthy tanned glow, too, especially since he was finally eating enough. Gods, did the kid eat! Like a bovine, he never seemed to go long without chewing something edible. Probably a good thing since he burned off just about everything he ate. Gaib's metabolism was terrifying.

"You would've managed well enough. Probably a good thing I'm up and moving, though. Cause I was told we have mere hours to get our asses off-world, before we're charged with something called child endangerment." Wicks spoke in a droll, tired tone of voice. Back to glaring at Gaibriel, of course. Gaib jumped up to his feet, gaping at the captain in stunned anger.

"What the fuck! That girl was over twenty years-old! Where does he get off accusing me of anything dealing with a child?"

Wicks shrugged. "At least you're not leaving me to take any of the blame, here. But as he described it, she's 'his child' and thus falls into the reach of the charge. Personally, I think he's full of shit, probably the same as you did when you helped her get out of here. However, she's not here, we are, and he has to make some token effort at punishing someone, I figure. Lucky us, huh?"

Gaibriel continued muttering angrily as he tossed his work tools back into the pack he carried with him everywhere they went, "That's the biggest load I've ever been asked to swallow, Wicks. Just want you to know. Considering where I come from, that's pretty damn big a load." Wicks chuckled, watching Gaib go about stuffing his motley assortment of possessions into his pack. The damn bag always contained various implements and weapons, a couple sets of emergency rations, and a set of credits that would get him ... somewhere, anywhere, he always said. Wicks always eyed the thing with some degree of sad regret, that the boy he'd grown to care for still and probably never would feel totally safe. Then he reminded himself the motion was smarter than not. He'd even tucked several items in there he'd want Gaib to have. Just in case, mind you. For now, he clapped Gaibriel on the back as they finally made their way out through the nearby door.

"Think we can sell the design for your little security droid?" Wicks wondered aloud as they went along. Gaibriel shrugged nonchalantly. As if his last project involving a strange little kolto-spraying droid hadn't earned them credits enough to eat for about half a damn year. Gaibriel maintained a pretty fascination with the more technical side of fixing people up, anyway. He tended to follow after doctors and medics in just about every port they traveled through, in fact. He asked endless series of questions, everything from how to knit a broken bone back together to how to ensure a man kept the contents of his stomach down after drinking too much. Came from having an Imperial daddy who'd been a hero for weaving broken soldiers back together again, he figured. Wicks snorted, now, as he thought of the inebriated clown from earlier. Half the reason he was so ticked, looking for Gaib, was that the kid normally steered those poor louts towards a safer feeling. Definitely better to have him along than to get spewed on, he thought.

"I'll see about the worth of the design. Mine's at least non-lethal, so there could be a decent enough market." Gaibriel thought aloud as they maneuvered through the throngs that inevitably gathered in every spaceport. Yells and shouts filled the air, in a variety of colorful languages, while crates and boxes galore were moved and stowed into various holds. He clambered after Wicks into the interior of the Freedom's Way, the freighter they'd renamed after a particularly quick leave-taking from the planet of Bothawui. Much like this one, in fact. Gaibriel refused to apologize for stopping that Bothan officer from beating up his wife, either. Not that Wicks had really asked for one, even if he did rant about being "asked" to leave the planet after the altercation was done. Seems Bothans didn't like it when human younglings beat the crap out of their military leaders, and especially not when said beating was delivered along with a lecture about how to "properly treat a woman so she'd actually want you".

Regardless, that's what Gaibriel'd crowed as they thundered free from Bothawui's atmosphere, crying out loud in tremendous pleasure, "Yes! Taking freedom's way, never looking back! Woohoo!" His sheer joy had been outrageous enough, that Wicks found himself singing along with him, both of them cheering as they left that planet behind. Big honker of a ship she may be but the freighter was their Freedom's Way ever since. Still didn't make it any easier to be running for the spaceport, now, either. Wicks sighed loudly as he stopped fast there in the inner doors of the ship, reaching out to grab against Gaibriel's arm as he went to skim past the captain towards the cargo hold.

Wicks eyed the youngster seriously, scanning his frame with a quick, succinct inspection. He regarded him with no small look of personal satisfaction, that the kid was healthy, whole. In one single piece. And without a damn collar around his neck or the sad resignation he'd endured when there was one, either. If there was one good thing Wicks could claim in the entire universe, it was this young, slender youth. So claim him he did, as if he'd personally made him, no less. In a lot of ways, he figured he had. Which is probably why he worried, why he agonized over where Gaibriel would go, what would happen to him. He prayed, to some gods, any gods, all of them. Just to keep him from harm, from loss.

"You got to be careful, Gaib. There are plenty of users out there, plenty of people who'll ask you for a hand. People who don't neccessarily deserve it. People who lie." Wicks growled out the warning, his eyes dark with remembered betrayals and disappointments. "I know you think you've seen the worst of things. Maybe you have. Gods, I hope so. But just be careful. Don't let some pretty face convince you to put yourself on some line, only to be left hanging there when it's all said and done."

Gaibriel shrugged lightly, looking aside away from Wicks, seeming lost in thought. Wicks thought of all the times Gaibriel offered up a laugh, a joke. He was endlessly happy, lively, so raucous you couldn't help but adore him. He'd long since decided it was a defense mechanism, a means of hiding away his inner scars, fears, worries. Until he coughed and choked through some kind of breathing attack, sometimes.

But there were plenty of demons riding Gaib's back, Wicks knew. There were things he had screamed when his mind was numb and breaking from the pain of drugged withdrawal. There were names he'd yelled out as he writhed there in such terrible pain, violence he'd screamed memories of. One name, in particular, over and over. He'd wondered, in fact, if that girl was as dead as the father he'd grunted of, the Imperial hero who'd helped sac Coruscant. Other times, he thought she was the one Gaib was looking for, the one he'd lost. She was definitely the one he was thinking of at the moment, at least, Wicks realized.

"Maybe there's someone who'll help her, like I help them." Gaibriel dropped his blue eyes, staring at the floor. Wicks sighed.

"You sure she isn't dead?"

Gaibriel jerked his gaze up, glaring at Wicks. He didn't do that often, rarely looked truly angry. It caught Wicks by surprise, it was so unexpected. "I'd know. She's not dead! Just ..." He chewed on his lip suddenly, thinking. "Don't know where she is, is all."

Wicks tightened his fingers there around Gaibriel's arm, clenching him in a strongly supportive gesture. "Okay, then. Gives us something to shoot for. Not that we'll shoot her. But finding her becomes a real quest, huh? Like one of those old stories, maybe. Just don't try to go it alone. You'll never make it alone, need friends with you."

Gaibriel smiled wide, his irreverent humor back in place as he held his arms out wide, "Hey, is this why we're heading towards Tattooine to meet up with Nikki? I stowed away the goods his pirate ass is counting on this time around, mind you. Cause, of course, friends are worth hanging onto. Even after they've taken to pirating instead.

Wicks glared at him one more time, "Take your purple-striped head to the nearest 'fresher, you little snot. I don't have time for anymore of your shit. Not today."

"Tomorrow?"

"Go away, damn it!"


	6. Chapter 5 -- Meeting Your Match

"Damn it, Wicks! You can't break Nikki out of an Imperial prison by yourself! And where the hell you going to take him after it's all said and done?" Gaibriel was leaning straightforward in his seat, more intent on the navigator's console in front of him than the holoimage of the man he'd long since considered more a father than not which glimmered nearby his dark head.

Wicks shook his head as he watched Gaib working over the console. The fierce concentration on his face was a mark of how difficult the task was proving to be, anyway. "Where are you, Gaib? You get word from Rendia Freight yet?"

Gaibriel jerked, cursing furiously as he worked against the console, adroitly steering the ship through the hail of weapons fire being exchanged by the battling starships in front of him. He leaned forward, staring out at the viewscreen as he shouted towards the distant ships, "Why don't you keep your damn cannons holstered when an innocent smuggler's coming through, huh? Not like I have anything better to do today than dodge your stupid battle!" Wicks sighed, tapping his foot against the floor as he watched the spectacle. Gaibriel even sang it like he would a damn song. Typical. "Just flying along, here! Don't mind me! Not like I'm carrying rifles to add to the mess, not me!"

"So let's see. You're running a blockade. And bitching at me because of potential risks." Wicks smoothed a single finger against his chin, pantomining a thoughtful expression. "I think I'd call this irony, actually."

Gaibriel shot a sharp glare at the holo. "We've run plenty of circles around blockades, Wicks. But never willingly entered a fucking prison." Then his intemperate grin broke through the overly serious expression on his face, the one Wicks saw only rarely. It usually hinted at some kind of "bad feeling" Gaib would be struggling with, which Wicks learned fast was a pretty good signal to avoid whatever course the pair of them were focused on. Had saved their asses plenty of times. Hell, it was Gaib's "bad feeling" that kept Andronikus' head from being overly messed up by whatever piece of Sith crap device he'd picked up during one of his more recent adventures, with Gaibriel grumbling sourly, "You don't play with Sith artifacts, Nikki, not without getting turned inside out."

Andronikus had only shrugged him an amused grin, though. "Worked out pretty well for you, if I recall right. Got you to a good place, didn't it? Maybe it was the magic in the thing. Maybe this thing, here, will take me to good places, too."

Gaib'd kicked the console, snarling. "And just maybe you and I aren't remembering our first meeting too well. That pretty little bauble managed to ruin the sanity of a good dozen men before we got it somewhere safe. Wicks' lucky he didn't try touching it. You don't mess with that kind of shit, Nikki, damn it!"

The one-time Republic pilot-turned-pirate just laughed, absolutely certain of his own ability to, as he put it, "beat at any kind of 'fingers in my head' nonsense". But he'd listened, too, to Gaibriel's descriptions of the "walls in his head" game he'd long since used to keep Force-powers from wrecking with his mind. They practiced several different techniques, pacing back and forth in front of their respective holoterminals, until Gaib sighed and said he thought Nikkie was as "strong as he'd ever be". He was still waxing dire warnings weeks later, though, until Wicks nearly screamed from the sheer tension, "You're going to give me a damn ulcer with this crap, stop!"

And then the rumors started, that Nikki was discovered adrift, alone - discovered by Imperials who imprisoned him on some distant junk of a place, no less. Wicks was grateful Gaib didn't mention, even once, anything that sounded like, "I told you so." But that was the limit of his good humor. In fact, Wicks just about lost it. He pulled in every favor he could, to find Andronikus. And then to put into effect some sort of plan to get him loose from the prison where the Imperials had tucked him away, too. The only thing that made Wicks dig in his heels, was anything that hinted at Gaibriel being a part of the thing. "Hell, no. If any one of us ends up sitting there next to Nikki in the hellhole he dug for himeslf, it's gonna be me. Because then I get to beat the ever-living shit out of him. Not you, Gaib!"

He didn't budge from that stubborn stance, either. No matter how much Gaibriel complained. And he did, of course. Even up to the moment he was dodging cannon-fire from starships over Ord Mantell. Wicks actually smiled to himself as he regarded Gaibriel's signature grin while he leaned over the console, his fingers flying across the buttons there. Gaibriel chanted over at the holo, "I think it would be fun, busting in and waving my blaster in some stupid guard's face. We could make a vid! Sell it over the holo!"

"When the time comes someone's willing to pay you for that sort of vid, by all means. But not today. Just stick to the plan, Gaib. The Way is yours now. This little adventure is going to net me a name worth my own seat in an Imperial prison, anyway. Best I keep my head low from now on."

Gaibriel sighed, just as the Freedom's Way burst past the last line of battling starships to streak towards the rose-tinted atmosphere of Ord Mantell. "What's the fun in that? Damn, never imagined being captain of my own ship would prove such a damned bit of work, Wicks."

"Remember that, the next time you laugh over how much I've busted my ass over the years. And damn it to Correllian Hells, Gaibriel. Don't get your balls blown off by some gods-damned Seperatist bastards down there! The females of the universe would never forgive you."

* * *

Gaibriel would say years later, he knew Skavak was an untrustworthy ass the moment he clapped eyes on him. Truth was, he thought Skavak little more than a self-preening dock-handler with pretty hair during that first introduction. Hell, the man even painted his face with an obnoxious tattoo. Although the tattoo probably wasn't that bad an idea, as he thought on it. Certainly dragged attention to the best side of a man's face, he decided.

But if he'd been told, when it was Skavak told him, "Name's Skavak", that the fellow was going to be as much a pain in the ass he eventually became, Gaib probably would've laughed himself silly. That namby bit of nonsense who couldn't even notice the stellar piloting skills Gaib used to land there in the port? Honestly, though, he eventually laughed himself silly over Skavak anyway. Why look for an excuse to chortle, giggle, and otherwise guffaw, after all? Better than being spitting mad. Or worse, sad ... gods, not sad! Every fool man in the universe had reason beyond reason to be just plain wretched with sorrow, he thought. It simply wasn't any fun, though.

Hey, Gaibriel was all about hiding his meanest feelings from everyone. Except Wicks. And maybe Andronikus. Those two had seen him puking his guts raw and screaming himself hoarse from his most terrible fears. He'd long since figured there were just some people who knew the worst things about a man, enough that saying, "I'm fine, no worries," when it very obviously wasn't and there were, simply didn't make sense enough to do it. He just didn't bother pretending to Wicks - and only sometime to Nikki - not after the years they'd spent flying together.

Maybe that's why it was so disconcerting that the youngish fellow named Corso stood there, watching him endure a very real meltdown as he saw the Way lifting off and away from the landing platform, with that bastard Skavak's ass planted behind the helm. The fact Corso ended up pounding his back through the breathing attack that naturally followed his ranting shouting match at the rapidly diminishing figure of the freighter winging its way through the pale pink sky didn't really help. "Stop smacking me! You're only gonna leave a load of bruises on my back!" He waved Corso off to lean over slightly, wondering bemusedly through the long, slow breaths he exercised what god was poking against his funny bone to get the situation so completely fucked.

"Sorry, captain." Corso patted absently against his lean hip, looking mournfully down towards his side. "Skavak nailed me good, took off with my Torchy. Imagine those Seperatist bastards he let in here woulda finished me off, if it wasn't for you. Don't think he was counting on _your_ blaster, anyway. But losing Torchy isn't so bad, I don't think, as losing an entire ship."

Gaibriel's eyes glittered dangerously, "I'm going to break that prick up into itty bitty little pieces. He'll be glad by the time I finally finish him off!" Corso felt a shiver wriggle its way down his spine as he watched the space captain, felt a sense of anxious concern the man would seriously carry out such a threat. But Gaib's eyes suddenly lightened, fast enough Corso felt slightly off-balance for a moment as he tried keeping up with the captain's capricious moods. Gaib glanced down towards Corso's empty belt. "'Sides, it's important to save your blaster. Torchy, did you call it? Who knows what Skavak'll get on it! Germs! Or funk! Yuck!"

Corso frowned so hard his lips pulled into a straight, vivid line, like someone had painted it on there with a thick chalk marker until there was this serious division happening between his nose and chin. Gaibriel tried not to laugh at the expression, although he wasn't completely successful and a little huff managed to escape. "Torchy is a genuine Blas Tech A-25 with magnatomic adhesion grip and side-mounted range finder. She's too good for the likes of Skavak!" Gaib bit his lip, hard, until the soft skin inside his mouth broke and he tasted a spot of blood.

"Dang straight. Now if you only tell me where that scad took the Way, I'll get you your Torchy back. Swear." Gaibriel nodded. Quite emphatically, too. But Corso was able to detect the soft pull at the corner of his lips, all the same. Some men might have become upset at the notion the captain was laughing at them. But Corso wasn't so easily needled. That, and he sensed the underlying veracity to what Gaibriel was offering. Oh, he might find Corso's tendency to name his weapons amusing. But that was only his own ingrained, innate sense of humor, Corso decided. That was blatantly obvious, after he took to laughter mere moments after losing his breath at losing his ship. Corso was rather impressed, truth be told.

No, Gaib was only mercurial enough, that he could rebound, could move forward rather than dwell overlong on the things he couldn't change. Corso lifted his chin, deciding suddenly that he really liked the captain. Which only made Skavak's backstabbing strike that much worse, actually. The captain didn't deserve the blow Skavak had delivered, to be misused the way he'd been. He yanked out his commlink and jabbed hard against the button, sensing Gaibriel shift closer just as Skavak's image appeared there. The backstabbing ass actually crooned pretend sympathy, "Oh, poor Corso. Hey, at least you're alive. I didn't expect that, actually." Corso snarled at him. But Gaibriel reached out to nab the link, smiling wide at the startled expression on Skavak's face, then.

"Heya, Skavak. I left my breakfast dishes out by the sink. Make sure you get them spic and span before I get back on board. Oh, and I don't have a laundry droid, either. So you're going to have to move my dirty skivvies into the drying machine all by your lonesome. Have fun with that." Gaibriel was gratified by the frown that flitted across the bastard's face, then. Mission accomplished. Because it was best to start wearing away at Skavak's balance right off the bat. Not ease him into it.

"If you think you're going to get this ship back, captain ..."

Gaibriel started shaking the commlink. "Oh, damn. There's some sort of interference. You're breaking up, Skavak! Skavak! We're losing you! Don't crash my ship, Skavak! Skavak, don't worry about your sorry skills with piloting! Do ... your ... best, buddy!" They watched as the holoimage wavered and cracked through the rough handling, until Gaib firmly pressed the button to close the connection. He glared at the handheld device for several moments, consideringly.

"Thinking about chucking the comm, captain?"

Gaibriel turned towards Corso, bemused. "How'd you know?"

Corso shrugged. "Just a hunch. Getting to know you. Only a bit, mind you. You seem to have some interesting ... layers."

"Oh, no, Corso. Don't go making me out to be some kind of rings-around-a-planet sort of guy. I'm far more like a cloud nebula. All murky-like."

"Easy to get lost in a nebula. Lost and dead, I've heard."

"Exactly. I'm a regular Maelstrom Nebula, that's me. Poor Skavak won't have any idea what's up and what's down by the time I'm done with him. Pretty much like everyone else who gets turned upside down in that storm."

* * *

"Someday, you're going to meet your match, Skavak. There'll come a day, when you meet the one person who'll get the better of you. They'll take you apart. Bring you down. Until you're nothing but a household joke!" She'd screamed the words at him, when he'd taken the plans for those Hex Droids out from under her pert, pretty little nose. Oh, her lover made sure to tell anyone who asked that he'd sold the plans to him. Better than admitting Skavak managed to get his hands on them without giving up a single blessed credit.

Not that he cared much how Jet felt when he knew Skavak had covered and used not only his property but his woman, too. Skavak had never cared much at all how anyone else felt. Ever. Not so long as he could skip away with some wealth of credits lining his pockets.

No, he owed no one any sort of true loyalty. Hell, this adventure on Ord Mantell was little more than another step towards a big payout. That's all. Even if the local seperatist idiots were convinced he was all about supporting them in their measly, insignificant "revolution", with all its incredible promises of "freedom for the masses". The only freedom that Skavak cared about, was the freedom that came from keeping one step ahead of whatever fool he bamboozled as he sought his next big payout.

Still. There was something about this black-haired starship captain. Nothing he could put his finger on. Maybe it was the swerving skill he used as he navigated the ship into port. His complete lack of fear when he trotted off to clear out the seperatists who'd set up a security net that kept his ship grounded. Or the utter confidence that filled his vivid blue eyes when he said he'd get his ship back.

Okay. So he was just an unnerving bit of baggage. That's all. Nothing to worry about. Skavak shrugged his shoulders as he moved towards the large holoterminal in the ship's lounge. Time to contact Risha and let her know what progress he'd made in getting to Nok Drayen's treasure.

* * *

**The Maelstrom Nebula was located in the Outer Rim territories. The Relgim Run went right through it, forcing starships traveling the route to navigate through the cloud at sublight speed. Only because the raw energies of the nebula worked to befuddle navigation computers until nagivation coordinates were altered and lost. The slower speed of ships through the nebula made the site a popular location for pirates. The nebula itself was a huge green cloud of gas and raw energy.**


	7. Chapter 6 -- Bird Watching

_"The Trantor Pigeon is a handsome aerialist with a blue back and a white chest. It's a familiar sight in such ecumenopolis as Coruscant, although the airways of Nar Shaddaa have unfortunately become too polluted for the species to successfully breed. The birds nest in pipes and other openings in the sides of buildings. They feed on small pieces of food and crumbs left behind by city inhabitants, making the species a valuable addition to any city's efforts to clean and tidy its streets."_

... "Who reads this kind of crap for _fun_?"

_"The Dagle is a powerful winged creature native to the planet Dagobah. Its diet consists primarily of meat carrion, much like a vulture. It's rather large, with long legs. And quite well capable of carrying off small children who wander too far from their homesteads."_

... "Gods. Reki, you're such an asshole."

_"The Orokeet is a friendly game bird native to the planet of Alderaan, and often kept as a pet by the peoples of that world. Its bill and legs are bare and brown in color, with short, rounded wings and plumage that is primarily green. Its diet consists mainly of grasses and grains."_

Gaibriel raised his head up from the surface of the table where he'd fallen asleep, blinking down towards the thin trail of drool he'd left there on the surface and grimacing. He rubbed the side of his face, clearing away the sleep lines the edge of the datapad had indented, there. He muttered, "I've so got to keep a copy of this. Save countless insomniacs all across the galaxy!"

* * *

Gorry had a knack when it came to machines. His earliest memories involved toddling after his father, as he'd manuevered through the various moving gears and stamping presses of the factories where he'd worked through the bright Mantellian days. He'd played with the welders and drivers laying about, scampered among the broken pipes and twisted wires of the manufactories. He'd first climbed into the guts of a hydraulic piston when he was only weeks shy of his sixth birthday, only because he was the smallest one there who might manage to repair the inner wranglings of the machine.

His father was the one who gifted him with his first toolset a mere two days later. An early birthday gift, he was told, while his beaming mother watched from nearby. He'd always made them so proud, so eager. They'd bragged over his intelligence, his verve through all the years of his young life. And nothing delighted him more than knowing they believed in him.

Not until he listened to the very first calls of the Seperatist propangandist during a weekend trip to the trader's district in the city of Worlport. He'd stopped when he first discerned the fiery rhetoric, looking towards the speaker as he ranted from atop a sturdy crate. The man's eyes glittered passionately as he declared, "Now these outsiders from the Republic think they can come here and tell us what's best for Mantellian homes, communities! As if they can know such things from their posh apartments there on Coruscant! I tell you this - we're independent and we should _stay_ independent!" He'd raised his fist, then, swearing as if to the gods told in the old stories, the ones that described them up in the heavens. And Gorry had fallen headlong into thrall, to the magnetism, the incredible pulsing power of the _cause_.

His parents were not so pleased. Especially when Gorry dug in his heals and swore he'd not abide by their terrible dictates. To him, his parents were suddenly lodestones around his neck, dragging at him with their old, tired refrains about duty and career and family. They deplored everything - his new mannerisms, the little sayings he used to display his newfound patriotism, all of it. His father even swore over the way he styled his hair, coloring it to match his starched uniform with its stiff, stitched-on patches that spoke of his rank and responsibility. It was like nothing he did or believed in made sense to them. For a time, Gorry mourned the sense he was moving so far apart from his parents. But he always seemed to find comfort in the advice and consideration from his comrades, the ones who fought beside him.

They respected him! Sometimes, at least. Not like his father and mother, who always regarded him with sad, tired eyes since he'd joined the Seperatists. Like he'd died, or something! Mind-boggling!

Gorry glanced up when the console in front of him began a steady refrain, blinking shrilly and trilling a low, steady alarm. The loud caterwauling sound distracted him utterly from his work. "Not again," he complained, twirling his chair closer to the console so that he could reach its surface, press frantically at a series of flashing buttons. 4-Sen trundled closer to him, of course. Obedient, subservient - just as Gorry had intended.

Now, if only he could get the thing to back up its properly servile attitude with equal fervor for the cause, the droid would be perfect, his efforts and work finally recognizable and appreciated. The others in his unit, for now, only choked back the worst sort of laughter, deriding him for his patriotism, his sense of loyalty and duty. Not everyone was so focused on the momentum of their movement as he was. But 4-Sen could change that, could convince so many people of the righteousness of the movement. As he himself had been convinced by similarly fiery rhetoric. If only the bugs in the 4-Sen's programming weren't so subtle, so dang hard to root out. Why couldn't he fix the machine until it worked right?

He chuffed a frustrated sigh, almost banging the palm of his hand against the console. "It's no use! We're going to have to access the computer in the Main Room, 4-Sen. Come along." The droid followed him, its unfettered parts clanking against the metallic floor as they passed through the hallway. Gorry was confused by the quiet, wondered bemusedly if the members of his unit had left for some sort of mission without telling him. Wouldn't be the first time, actually. They seemed to delight in making pranks against him, in fact.

"Master, our primary objective is not being achieved by this course. It is imperative we discover the location of those base servants of the Republic as soon as possible."

Gorry sighed loudly. He could feel the same familiar frustration sliding along the line of his shoulders, "You're still not saying it right, 4-Sen. The way I taught you, remember?" How was it even possible a droid could so easily forget _anything_, in fact? There had to be something he was doing wrong, something in 4-Sen's programming that wasn't adjusting properly. Maybe there was something improper in the droid's wiring. Gorry's mind swam, as he turned the puzzle over and over in his head, especially as 4-Sen began chanting the more familiar refrain. Complete with, "They'll swim in flaming lakes of justice by the time we're done, master." It obviously knew what he was _supposed_ to say, so why did it so often say different?

That's when Gorry stopped, staring at the man standing in front of the computer he was looking to access. "Oh. Hey. You're new. Did you just recently join the unit?" He must have, anyway. He was still dressed in standard spacefarer attire - with a blue jacket criss-crossed by brown buckles that stretched across his firm, round shoulders and snug leather boots that covered his feet - rather than the regular patched and frayed uniforms so common to the more land-based Seperatist units. The man cocked his black-haired head towards Gorry, shooting him a sardonic grin as his bright blue eyes twinkled at him. "I'm happy to see we're getting new fighters to the cause. Hey, I really do need that computer, to check on some strange power flucuations. Do you mind?"

4-Sen pointed suddenly, "Master. I'm detecting the remains of prior squad mates." Gorry gaped, while the stranger suddenly broke off from his work at the computer to come trotting over to stand alongside him. The stranger whistled as he considered the shattered bodies of the three men who'd just that morning teased Gorry for the fancy new patches he'd stitched onto the front of his uniform. The ones that showed a spiffy flag on them.

"By the stars, would you look at that? They've managed to invade our base? But ... How could this happen?"

Gorry pursed his lips tightly shut, "I'm not sure. But I wouldn't put anything past those nefarious evil-doers intent on dragging us under Republic control! We have to secure the base!"

4-Sen's neck cranked a loud metallic noise as it shook its head, loud as they all stood there in solemn regret over their lost comrades. "Master, I do not detect any sign of hostile activity. Perhaps ..."

The stranger reached out suddenly, yanking the droid close enough he could peer into the wiring that ran along the line of its spine up into the interior of the metal skull. Gorry was impressed the man seemed knowledgeable on droid mechanics, actually. He briefly considered asking him for advice concerning 4-Sen's programing. But he wasn't certain he'd be able to sacrifice time enough, unfortunately. Rather, he listened to the man's advice, "When's the last time you calibrated this droid's security protocols? It's vital to conduct such routine maintenance on a steady basis, you know. I could show you a manual that describes the procedure if you'd like."

Gorry nodded. "You're absolutely right, comrade. I'll perform my checks immediately!"

The man raised up a hand, halting Gorry's impending rush out of the room, "Oh, no! Make sure you secure the base firstly! Whoever managed to do this dastardly deed should be punished. In fact! I'll check the entranceway right this second! You cover me, here! Make sure no one gets to the computer!"

"Of course! Hurry, friend! I'll manage to hold off any invaders, here. With my life, if need be!"

"Good to know! Stand by, I'll be right back!"

Gorry smiled after him as the man moved away, hurrying up the stairwell towards the doors that lead away from the room. He smiled towards 4-Sen, "See, 4-Sen? That's the sort of hero that will win this war for the Seperatist cause, mark my words!"

* * *

Gaibriel leaned his head back against the chair, rubbing his neck back and forth against the rest, there. Damn, but his entire body was aching. Once he had the Way back, with all of his spiffiest speeders tucked up inside, he'd never walk a single step across any planet again! How did people even live this way, just stuck on a single unmoving world so that the ground didn't hum under their feet? He rubbed a tired hand against the back of his neck, trying to smooth out the tight coil of stressed muscles there.

Ah, damn. What he wouldn't do for a massage, he thought morosely. Preferably before he sent a holocall to Wicks. Yea, right. Maybe he'd just hold off on that particular call until Ord Mantell was a distant dot on the horizon. Or better, maybe he'd never say a word about this entire debacle. Just keep mum. Quiet-like. His own little secret. Forever. Then he caught sight of Corso, sitting out of the way in a single chair down at the end of the table. The soldier was very obviously biting his lip as he quickly raised a cup up to his mouth.

Figures. Well, at least the story of Gaib's jaunt through the Seperatist compound was worth a laugh or two. Because it was certainly not something he'd be able to hide for long. Hell, with the way his luck was going, Wicks had already heard everything there was to know. Hey, maybe _Skavak_ had called Wicks! Bastard would probably get off on the added insult, even. Gaib scowled, thinking how he'd enjoy planting his fist right smack dab in the center of Skavak's laughing face.

For now, he only snorted towards Viidu, watching through half-lidded eyes as the chunky fellow swallowed another long gulp from his gleaming metallic cup, "All I know is if there's another treatise on bird life involved, I'm not doing it. No more 'flutterplumes' or 'gulls' or 'jack-a-dales'! I mean it, Viidu! I just about died of boredom reading through that crap."

Viidu chuckled, "Yea, well, Reki's little code got you through the doors, right?"

"Probably would've managed a better way inside, regardless. Those monkeys barely knew the difference. One of them asked me to help take out the Republic troops invading the base! Although, Reki did have a pretty nice set-up out there, now that I think on it. Couple of pretty ladies were happily taking care of him." He closed his eyes and shifted his head against the back of the chair again. "I bet they rub his shoulders for him. Lucky dog."

Viidu was staring at him with wide eyes, while Corso lost the fight to keep from laughing. Corso guffawed, in fact, rolling so hard against his seat he almost fell out of the thing onto the floor. Gaib smirked at him as he fought to regain his balance there in his chair. Viidu sputtered, "What do you mean, Republic troops?"

Gaibriel shrugged, "Hey, I could've just shot the kid! But he was so helpful after I told him the base was being invaded, that I just couldn't manage it. Far as I know, he's still busy securing the doors and recalibrating his droid."

Corso held up one hand, as if asking for mercy. "Please, captain! Not sure I can handle anymore!" Gaibriel shrugged, smiling as he wearily closed his eyes. Viidu spluttered for another few moments, trying to take in the amazing story just one more time. Then he leaned forward as he described a new task, his tone hopeful the thing could be accomplished.

Gaib listened to Viidu and Corso arguing, with the younger fellow insisting the job was too dangerous. Something about handling a toxic payload. He leaned his head back against the chair, dozing lightly enough while they bantered over the potential risks. He certainly didn't volunteer any information about his ability to withstand toxic poisoning. None of their business, anyway. And he was damn tired, regardless.

* * *

Syreena bit her lip oh so softly as she watched Skavak's holoimage. She knew him well enough to recognize the intimate signs of agitation there in his frame. He wasn't sweating, at least not yet. But there was a telltale tic along the line of his temple that betrayed the upset he was struggling to hide from her. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, looking towards the upper landing of the warehouse where she'd seen the ship captain disappear, ducking through the doorway into Viidu's office.

"You're positive he got the database, that he got into the damn stronghold on Mannet Point? How the fuck did he manage it? That place was locked down tighter than a virgin's ass!"

Syreena slowly exhaled the breath she'd been holding as she listened for footsteps on the landing above. She wanted to scream at Skavak, actually. Not like she cared about the Seperatists, anyway. Just him. But she was sitting here, in the middle of a complete and total mess, and Skavak didn't seem worried about her at all. If he'd expressed even a moment's concern – just a jot of tiny consideration over how much danger she was in – then maybe she wouldn't be so annoyed. But he just rolled his damn eyes at her. Figures.

She really was starting to hate the entire male half of the human species. Selfish users, all of them. "How the hell am I supposed to know? It's not like I went with him!"

"Now, now, honey. No need to get all bent out of shape, here. It's just, that database will provide him a heads-up where I'm hunkering down. Since I'm the one with the ship, that means both our asses are in deep trouble." He crooned at her, damn him. That smooth careful manner of his never failed to tantalize her senses. "You know I just go out of my mind thinking of you stuck here on Ord Mantell, with me unable to save you."

Syreena melted. Like a gooey ooey puddle right there on the floor. "Don't worry. I'll think of something. I mean it, Skavak."

He rubbed his chin as he canted his head, thinking. "Maybe the answer lies with our resolute captain. Seems that Viidu's latched onto him, anyway. If we stick to the captain, we'll have a better idea what they're all up to. Think you can get him to trust you, sweetheart? Like Viidu, maybe."

She frowned. "You know I hate it, that Viidu even touches me. And now you want some strange smuggler captain all over me, too? I love you, Skavak! Damn it, what kind of guy is okay with his woman being mauled by other men?"

"I'm not okay with it! I just understand, is all! It's not like I blame you, or anything. What kind of man would I be if I turned away, just because you did what was necessary, what was needed?" He moaned as if in terrible distress, his pale brown eyes all scrunched up with pain. She sighed mournfully.

"I'm sorry, Skavak." Only Savak was so damn capable of making her feel like a complete and utter shit. She clucked her tongue as she worked to soothe him, "I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes. But damn it. I love you a lot, baby."

"I know! We just have to do a little bit more before we can get away. Scot free, sweetheart. I swear!" He smiled at her, his voice dripping with the honey-laden sweetness she absolutely adored. She felt spellbound as she regarded him. She was so lucky he wanted her, loved her. Because the man could surely wheedle a queen straight off her damn throne with that rich gaze and warm sing-song voice. "Now … all you have to do for me is …"


	8. Chapter 7 -- Gundarks and Ugnaughts

"No, no, not there! You can't stand there! That spot is clearly designed for Gundarks, can't you tell? There is where they'll be able to hear the singing from the whales that swim through the straits nearby! Move aside!"

"There are whales in these waters? Didn't know it was that deep, actually."

"Didn't I say so? Oh, wait, listen! Can you smell that stew? You brought the Alderaan Ruge, didn't you? It will bring out the flavors in the fish so perfectly, I just know it!"

"Nope, no Ruge. Wouldn't mind a stiff drink right about now, though, trust me. You're giving me a headache."

"Headache! You're suffering from ammonia sickness! Someone must have released the chemicals into the atmosphere here on Ord Mantell. Headaches are the first symptom ... won't be long now, I wager."

"I doubt there's any ammonia anywhere nearby. Think I'd smell it at least. Nasty shit, ammonia. No, Viidu said you had a canister of chemicals, for Roghun. Remember?"

"Viidu? What's that, a musical instrument? You don't sing, do you?"

"Get your fingers away from my mouth! No telling what you've been sticking those inside of. And that's just considering the chemicals, mind you."

"Hey! Chemicals! I do recall a man saying he was sending a stranger to retrieve a canister of my chemicals. You are very strange, too. Was he talking about you?"

"You think _I'm_ strange? How many of those chemicals do you make a habit of sniffing, mind you?"

"I've got it! You've been diagnosed with a terminal illness, right? No? A woman, then. You'd rather die than get married? I can understand the sentiment, believe me. But I must tell you, there are easier ways to kill yourself."

"Pretty sure that marriage will be the death of me long before your stupid chemicals. You'd hardly be the first son of a bitch to try and poison me, anyway. Hells, the first guy tried, back when I was just ten years-old!"

"Oh, it's not my chemicals that will kill you, no! It's the Ugnaught assassins! They hide in the woods and waylay anyone who tries to transport my chemicals to the buyer, in fact."

"Ugnaughts might make for pretty spiffy target practice along the way, though. They're pretty jumpy. And quick."

"Hmm, shooting them ... that strategy hasn't really worked out for any of the others who tried carrying my chemicals."

"No? Well, I'm a pretty darn lucky sort of fellow, believe me."

"What you really need is a precision teleporter! But a former assistant of mine crashed the prototype into the sun."

"Stop. I'm still trying to picture an Ugnaught _assassin_."

"If you laugh much harder, you could break a blood vessel in your spleen. I've been told the experience is extraordinarily painful, mind you. The last fellow didn't recover from the debilitation for a solid week."

* * *

Gaibriel hefted the weapon, holding it arms-length as he scanned along the line of the thing towards some imaginary target. The grip felt warm against his palm, curved neatly along the soft flesh of his hand and the trigger fit sweetly along his finger. The light from overhead them, there in the warehouse, made the burnished metal of the pistol's sight gleam almost golden, even. He breathed, "Thing's a work of art, Corso."

Corso tossed his head, slinging the dark braids that had fallen against the angular lines of his jaw back behind his ears again. His almond-shaped eyes narrowed even further as he watched the captain, humming with satisfaction. "I call 'er Flashy. But you can name her whatever you like."

Gaib glanced at him, grinning, "Bah! Renaming her would hurt her feelings! You think I'm such an ass?"

Corso chuckled, "Nope, captain. Don't really know what I'd call you, not yet at least. But can't figure I'll ever be able to call you an ass." He leaned over, showing Gaibriel the different modifications he'd made to the weapon. Gaib grunted every once in a while, moving the blaster from hand to hand so he could best judge the weight and feel of the piece. Syreena found them like that as she sauntered through the doorway, the both of them looking to her like nothing so much as a pair of little boys bent excitedly over some bright, shiny new toy. She very nearly laughed at the way their dark heads were all tucked up against each other so they could better see the blaster from every angle.

"You two look enough alike, you could be related." She cooed flirtatiously, scanning Gaibriel from head to toe so slowly. She admired the way the smuggler's jacket stretched across his chest, kept in place with black leather belts buckled just over the ribs of his left side. It drew attention straight to the firm, lean length of his torso, made her wonder if he was in the habit of running, the way some men did - for the pure fun of it. Although living most of his life in a pilot's chair wasn't truly conducive to opportunities at running, either. It was just one of the things that made him ... interesting, actually. That, and his eyes, she thought. Gaibriel's eyes had a particular sheen at times, gleaming like brightly dark sapphires it seemed almost. She liked it when he looked at her. She'd like it better if he seemed at least semi-interested when he was looking at her, though. She frowned softly when he barely reacted to her less-than subtle thrusting hip as she stood there in front of them.

He was too intent on that damn ship of his, she thought darkly. And why did that seem overly typical of a man, too. Here she was, trying to get his attention. And he just couldn't be bothered to go along with the plan, damn him.

She felt a spark of irrational and bitter anger sweeping through her suddenly, thinking sullenly of how Skavak would berate her if she failed to nab the smuggler captain's notice and why the hell wouldn't the damn captain act like every other man she'd ever known. Not like he was blind to her flirting, not with those twinkling looks of amusement he kept throwing her way every so often. But he didn't even quirk a smile her way, the damn jerk. She bit the inside of her lip, trying yet again as she crooned seductively, "Well, captain. Tell us. Are you some secret Mantellian, come home to help in the brave fight of her freedom-loving compatriots? Some long-lost brother to our very own Corso, even?"

Corso scowled at her, then. Not the least because he was sensitive to the insult she was doing Viidu in this little play. But she'd forgotten how much he hated the fool Seperatists, too. "Freedom-loving compatriots, my ass. What's going on with you, Syreena? You know Viidu will tan your hide if you keep up with this crap."

Syreena sighed with feigned drama. "I'm only curious to know more about the man fighting for my Viidu, of course. What did you think I was doing, Corso? Are you implying ... wait, you wouldn't think that of me, would you? That hurts. Deep."

Corso fumbled over himself. She knew he would. Seriously, toss the poor guy any sign of a helplessly upset female and he didn't even know what to do with himself. The most easily manipulated sap of a man she'd ever come across. Not like Gaibriel, though. Gaib had leaned back as Syreena was talking, watching as she knocked Corso flat and frowning bitterly. She wondered who it was bothered him the most - Corso, for being so easily fixed. Or her, for being the one who set him down. But she had to continue the play. "Well, tell us, then, captain. Where is it you hail from, that you'd fight so fiercely for my Viidu, here?"

Corso sighed, "We're not related, Syreena. Just ... look, the captain got a raw deal. He deserves our help getting his ship returned, that's all."

Gaibriel watched her silently, just until she started to become nervous. She even twitched as she stood there. He was doing it on purpose, she thought, angrily bemused. But then he broke out into a sudden wide and even grin. "And maybe, Syreena, you're my very own long-lost sister, too. Who knows, right? My father didn't shoot blanks, believe me."

"Your father?"

Gaibriel grinned, "Every human's got one."

Syreena jumped suddenly, scowling over her shoulder when another pair of men came up behind her, one of them reaching out to clap his hand hard and forceful into the seam of her ass. She yelped, "Get your damn paws off me, Bracco!"

"Ah, come on, girl. I see you're scoping out a new protector. Obviously smart enough to see the way the wind's blowing, here. Think I can give this spacer a run for his money." The dark-skinned Zabrak groped her as she tried twisting away from him. Gaibriel sighed as he watched the spectacle, stepping carefully in front of an agitated Corso as the soldier made to defend the stupid woman. Gaib wondered for a crazed moment if the chemist fishing along the shoreline was really so much more foolish than the kooks gathered together in this warehouse. He'd at least made for several enjoyable moments of laughter.

Nothing funny about watching a man's livelihood blow up in his face. Well, unless the guy really deserved it. But Viidu seemed a decent-enough sort. Good enough that watching a couple of weasels trying to scavenge what they assumed was his broken self didn't really set well with Gaib. Viidu was right then upstairs trying to content the poor, hurt feelings of some gangster called "The Butcher" with the chemicals Gaibriel had trundled across the Ord Mantell countryside. And down here, his entire warehouse was disentegrating into gang warefare.

Gods, he needed his ship back!

"Is your name really Bracco? With horns like that, to boot? What're you trying to do, hang a damn sign around your neck that says to every law enforcing wanna-be, 'hey, bad guy right here!'" Gaibriel shook his head while he chuckled at the thuggish brute.

"You want a piece of me?"

"Are you serious?" Gaibriel leaned over, laughing. Corso wasn't fooled by Gaib's playacting, at least. He lifted his booted feet, rather, easing himself into a firmer fighting stance alongside a crate where he could duck for cover when he noted Gaib's loose grip on Flashy. Another reason to like the fellow, Gaib thought. Because anyone dumb enough to fall for such a simple gambit - come on, a damn joke? - didn't deserve much else but a shot up the ass. "Didn't know you were that hard-up, that you'd offer _me_ a piece of your horny tail, too."

The Zabrak glared at him fiercely. Considering the way his horns actually canted forward, the expression really was impressive, Gaibriel thought. The man still had a firm grip on Syreena's waist, though. Gaib glanced at her, took in the bitter expression on the woman's face. He'd thought it a great many times since meeting her - back when Viidu ran his pudgy hand down her shoulder before grabbing her hand and raising it to his lips, calling her, "My favorite thing" - that she really hated being any man's possession. Never mind how many men treated her like she was an asset, to be passed around, fawned and preened over, any of it. Oh, she went along with them easily enough. But he could tell she was only barely holding back the most bitter vitriol and slander, the ugliest feelings and judgment.

Definitely a bit of fluff worth avoiding, he'd decided. Because when that top blew, some fellow was going to lose his fucking gonads. And Gaibriel appreciated his own far, far too much, Wicks would say. Best to get this nonsense done, then.

Gaibriel lifted his boot off the floor suddenly, let his foot fly up and fast straight into Bracco's groin. His aim was spectacular. One would think he'd practiced it, even. Not that he'd deny such careful preparation, either. The spot on the training dummy back on the Way was very well-worn, after all. He tsked at poor Bracco, all the same, watching as he tumbled back against the doorjamb clutching his groin pitifully. "So what do you think The Butcher would like to hang on his wall more? Personally think he'd go after your balls more than your horns, mind you. Anyone who calls himself Butcher isn't going to be happy with the stupid dick who made off with Viidu's things beforehand, hmm?" Gaib clucked his tongue against his teeth when the Weequay stepped forward, shaking his head as he palmed Flashy against his side.

Bracco's Weequay friend eyed him thoughtfully for a single moment. Before slowly raising his hands up and edging towards Bracco so he could help him climb painfully back to his feet. The Zabrak was swearing solidly under his breath as he went, "Damn son of a ..." Gaibriel waved towards the two men as they stumbled out of the doors, calling out, "Ice, Bracco! Tons and tons of ice!" He turned back around as soon as the pair was gone, shrugging.

"Who wants to bet against how long a time it'll take for that guy to be _anyone's_ father?"

* * *

The cantina almost came to a screeching halt. Except for the machine belting out various tunes that no one seemed inclined to dance along to, Gaibriel thought. But then the caterwauling started up, too. Gaib wondered fleetingly if the man loosing all those wailing sounds was drunk. Drugged, maybe. And his nose curled as he considered that even Fort Garnik was probably unable to keep out the spice sellers.

Whatever the pitifully whining man was dosing himself with, though, the trooper facing him wasn't impressed. Enraged, more like. Her angry snarls were scary enough even Gaibriel felt tingles chasing along his spine. He scanned her figure quickly, eyeing the sharp tips of the claws she was waving in the poor sot's face. Corso exhaled roughly, "Whoah ... remind me to never piss off a Cathar woman, 'kay?"

Gaibriel nodded absently as the woman's face came into view. Her chin and jaw were covered in fine, soft-looking white fur, that gradually extended into orange-brown stripes from the middle of her face and upwards. Unlike many Cathar he'd seen, she had loose tendrils of dark brown hair that fell around her face. The soft pointed tips of her ears were almost completely obscured behind her hair. He sighed, "Wonder if the effort it would take to calm her down would be worth it." Just then, she spun around, gripping the foolish soldier dressed in some sort of plain uniform that marked him a minor administrative flunkie. "Oh, hells yea, she'd be worth it," Gaibriel said, dropping his gaze down the woman's front. Armored or not, he thought, the woman had some truly sweet-looking curves.

Corso almost choked on the ale he was downing, "Are you joking? She could chew you to pieces! Look at those teeth!"

Gaibriel didn't even glance at him, only smiled slowly. "Uhm hmm. Cathar are purely enjoyable, trust me. They have the most sweetly rough little tongues that tickle your skin in just the right way. And they purr!"

Corso eyed him like he was a madman, watching as Gaib's blue eyes flared as he looked over at the Cathar. It didn't help that the woman spun the poor adminstrator around suddenly, so hard he actually stumbled against their own table. Corso yelped as his ale sloshed over the rim of his cup. But Gaibriel seemed unperturbed. He lifted his cup up high enough he was able to salute the trooper, smiling, "Got things well in hand, I see."

She stopped, blinking at him through brightly blue eyes. The man she was restraining tried to jerk away from her hold, but she snarled at him again, "Stop moving, fool. You'll end up bleeding like a damn Gamorrean if you keep this up. Should have just done your damn duty, you fucking little prick!" Gaibriel chuckled, leaning forward to better consider the way the buckles secured the edges of her chestplate into place. The shape of the piece highlighted the high curves of her breasts. He liked it.

"What did he do, by the by?"

Her slim mouth twisted into a grimace, so that Gaibriel was able to see her sharp little teeth glistening in her mouth. The last time he'd known a Cathar woman, she'd enjoyed running her teeth in tiny joyous nips all over his neck and shoulders. The sensation had been absolutely incredible. The trooper in front of him right then absently tossed her hair back as she bared her teeth at the miscreant flunky she was shaking back and forth, listening to the man's squealing. "Several soldiers were running a betting pool, out past the fort in some deserted fields. Were making civilians run through the field and seeing how many of them could survive the blasts from unexploded ordinance. This fool is the one supposed to write them up, see them processed for the completely abhorrent infraction."

Gaibriel lifted his cup up against his mouth quickly, working to hide his grin. "Oh, yea. Completely despicable." Corso actually opened his mouth, but Gaibriel kicked him smoothly under the table. Better to avoid his repeating Gaibriel's sing-song telling of his own run through that little maze of bombs and shrapnel - "_You should've seen me, Corso! I managed to grab the pins off three seperate bombs, no less! Sweet winnings! Hey, there a cantina around here_?" Corso gulped another long drink from his cup to avoid yelping loudly in pain right there in front of the pretty furred face of the woman trooper. Not that either one of them imagined she was fooled. She stood there, staring down at them both with a hard stare. Gaibriel only kept smiling at her, though. She shook her head, before she roughly snarled one last warning at the poor fool still clutched in her grasp before letting him go. She sighed as she watched the man run from the room like every one of the hounds of all the Corellian Hells were chasing him.

She muttered to herself, "Pathetic."

Gaibriel was still smiling at her, "Hey, he's gone, and he didn't even wet himself. Life's good, isn't it? So ... what're you called, sweet thing?"

She turned looked back at Gaib, frowning, "Well, it's not anything close to 'sweet'."

He pretended shock. "No way! You are just the epitome of sweet. Trust me!" He leaned forward, winking softly at her, "I could show you just how sweet. Oh, I'd make a veritable treat out of every delicious inch of you. Promise." The fur that gently lined the pointed ends of her ears, just peeking through her hair, stood up straight with very obvious interest. But she tried her damndest to look nonchalant, nonetheless. He thought she was adorable.

"What makes you think I'm even a little interested in that, hmm?"

His dark head fell backwards as he laughed outrageously. "I'm just good like that, is all. I can show you _that_, too."

Corso watched the entire process with wide incredulous eyes, gaping when the Cathar pulled a chair out from under the table to settle herself against its surface. She lowered her chin down until it rested on the palm of her hand, held up by the elbow she plunked on the table. She smiled over at Gaibriel, "Simi. My name, I mean. It's Simi."

"See? Sweetness personified, I'm telling you."


	9. Chapter 8 -- Into the Volcano

Sheets of rain fell down across the surface. The downpour hit the hot volcanic rocks, the molten pools of lava that bubbled nearby, until hot, heavy steam rose high into the air before streaming down and over the expanse of field between them and the doors to the Seperatist compound. Gaibriel lifted his head slowly over the edge of the rock where he'd crouched down, shrewdly eyeing the entrance, the figures that loitered there in the doorway. The outline of their forms was obvious enough to him, even through the billowing steam and falling rain that neatly obscured regular human vision. To him, they looked like gray shadows against the doors, pale cut-out figures almost. He shook his head, flinging the droplets of rain from out of his eyes just so he could see better, in fact.

Corso grumbled low from where he knelt down next to him, "We'll have to get closer before we know how many of them there are, captain." Gaib waited, trying to see if anyone else would appear in the doorway. But he ultimately twisted a grin towards Corso, assured the duo he could see were the only saps who'd pulled the apparent short string for guard duty outside the doors.

"Only two of them, actually. Probably figure no one's stupid enough to look for them on top of a damn volcano. The rain adds to their sense of safety, too. Damn perfect a time to slip inside, huh?"

Corso's eyebrows shot up. "Wait a minute ... Are you saying we're stupid?"

"Of course we are! Smart men would avoid breaking into any stronghold some asshole soldiers have dug into a volcano, right? But stupid's more fun, don't you think?"

Corso grinned, "You do have an interesting notion of fun, captain. I'll give you that much."

Gaibriel chuckled at him as he skirted around the rock, fiddling with the stealth field generator tucked against his belt even as he moved. Corso leaned low against the smuggler's back as they eased themselves closer to the doors. Stealth motions weren't new to him, although he didn't rely upon them half so much as Gaibriel seemed prone to. Gaib had worked over the generator for a good hour the night before, sitting close to the small heat and light source at the camp they made along the beach down below. Corso had watched him picking at the small device, using small well-worn tools to skillfully pull and push at the purely tiny wires twisted up inside the thing.

It had made Corso think of his father, actually. Not much for machines, his father's talent lay in handling large herds, the giant animals that slowly meandered across the Mantellian plains. He'd gone so far as to eschew most transport vehicles other than riding beasts, insisting that speeders only frightened and kept nervous the herds of imported nerfs they tended to on their ranch. He used to laugh as he exclaimed, "Black thumb is what it is, I swear! Soon as I touch some machine it up and stops its working. Better to keep me far from anything with metal parts involved!"

He would've marveled over the captain's aptitude with small machines, Corso thought. His father had always admired the men and women who'd proved well capable of fiddling with machines and their sundry parts into whatever semblance of working the things required. He could almost hear his father's voice, could imagine what he'd say if he'd watched Gaibriel working with the device, "It's a talent! Just goes to show you, every man has skills suited to him, to what he needs to accomplish! This is a fellow who's managed to find his own, his own unique knack ... stick with him and you'll find yours, too!"

Not for the first time, Corso thought of following the captain when he left Ord Mantell. Not easy thoughts, either. This was home, would always be home. He simply couldn't picture himself really living anywhere else. Going away, far away ... where would he end up? When would he come home? Hells, _would_ he come home? He nearly stumbled when Gaibriel came to a sudden stop in front of him, heard him hiss subtly when the sound of their bodies shuffling against each other became clear. The captain's hand came back to rest against his arm as he leaned his head around the corner of the rock strewn entranceway, looking towards the wall where the two guards were huddled out of the reach of the stifling rain and steam.

Corso held his breath, trying to stay as quiet as he could while following Gaibriel in his slow, careful course past the guards. He'd not missed the captain's palming of his blaster as they moved, either. He looked past Gaib's shoulder, eyeing the two sorry-looking men standing miserably against the wall. He could finally make them out clearly enough to count the droplets of sweat that etched clean-looking paths through the dirt and grime that covered their faces. Probably hadn't bathed in weeks, he thought snidely. Always snide when he thought of any Seperatist, though.

The image of his parents rose once again in his mind. He wondered if they'd been afraid when the Seperatists attacked their homestead, wondered if they'd cried and screamed when they were shot down. He felt the familiar burn of anger souring his stomach, and turned his gaze away from the two men sweating like pigs there in the steam, following the smuggler past them through the doorway into the compound itself. "Not the same men, not the same ones at all," he mentally repeated the words as he stepped after Gaibriel, padding along in his wake as quietly as possible.

It wasn't until they were well inside the compound, finally, that it occurred to Corso to wonder how it was Gaibriel had ever managed to correctly count the two pitiful guards outside from so far away and through all the mist and steam.

* * *

Gaibriel watched Daveg pace back and then forth, there in front of him, twisting his head to and fro like a dang marionette, like one of the ones he used when he was designing a new droid maybe. He sighed as the man persisted in ranting his absurd Seperatist spiel, his voice rising into a near zealous rumble that had the other soldier-types in their flunky uniforms nodding and cheering from their positions against the walls and consoles of the place.

Daveg was almost shouting, anyway, "You've killed my brave compatriots. You realize what that means? You've earned your death by coming here, by attacking our base like this! You'll pay for every drop of blood you've spilled today, mark my words!" And he spun around on his heel again, pointing at Gaibriel every so often. As if he really was making some sort of salient argument. When he only sounded like a total nitwit, in Gaib's opinion. Not that he figured pointing it out would go so well, either.

Gaibriel could feel the gathered sweat on his forehead smoothing its way down the side of his face. His dark hair was wet with it, rather than the rain that had saturated his head earlier. Not overly comfortable, actually. He thought how much a hot shower of water would feel against his head in some nearby refresher stall, promised himself he'd make bathing a priority. He glanced down at his front, trying to see if he'd managed to get any blood on himself. Thank his luckiest stars, it seemed his jacket was free of any splatter. Stuff was nasty tough to clean from a good jacket. And pants and gloves were just plain easier to replace.

"Are you even paying attention to me?"

Gaibriel's head shot back up, "Huh? Oh. Just checking my clothes, trying to see what all I need to get cleaned. Stains are a bitch, right? So. You done, then?" Gaib's blue eyes narrowed with amusement as Daveg's jaw dropped wide open. He figured he could drop a hook in there and jerk the man around, given that gaping maw of a mouth. Geez, but the fellow was a big son of a bitch, too.

Behind him, Corso released a sharp bark of sarcastic laughter. He could tell Corso was bitterly angry, of course. Problematic, that. Corso's emotional state had grown darker and darker the farther into the compound they'd worked. Until he was very nearly a black cloud drifting along behind him as they moved. Last thing Gaib was looking forward to, was watching the guy just plain lose it, here. Not sure Corso would like it in the end, either, actually.

That, and he'd get blood on his jacket for sure! No friggin' way!

"Are you mocking me?" Daveg had a bit of foam at the corner of his mouth by now. Gaibriel very nearly asked him if he'd been tested for one of those mind-altering sicknesses that caused a man to lose his mind. Madness was never a pretty thing, obviously.

"Of course I am! Only a real idiot would think I give a rat's ass about the supposed nobility of your fucking cause, here. I'm here for my ship, is all." He glanced at Corso, gauging him carefully, him and the near trembling of his frame. Not that he didn't respect the reasons behind his emotional state, either. The vivid image of his tiny sister being dragged away from him, her screams as she fought them to reach back for him - he shuddered ever so lightly as he pushed the image to the back of his mind again. He knew well what it was to lose everything, to have it stolen from you, the most precious people ripped straight from your arms and hauled away. Nope, he didn't blame Corso even a tiny bit! He waved his thumb towards Corso, "Well, he's here for the rifles, too. Just the stuff that Skavak stole, basically."

"How dare you?"

"Oh, I'm daring. Pretty good looking, too. Don't you think?"

"Shut up!"

"So we're finally done talking? Phew! About damn time!"

Gaibriel tried not to laugh as the Seperatist slowly descended into a sheer hissing, foaming mess of temper right in front of him. He continued to think it was best to keep your opponents dreadfully off-balance when you went into a fight. Wicks had argued with him repeatedly, that it only made them even more dangerous because they were out of control. But Gaib always shook his head, "_I don't want them to have any control over the situation. The control should belong to me. I'm just a greedy little bastard like that_." Wicks usually mumbled something about Gaib's parentage at that point, a running joke between the two of them. If only because Gaibriel had absolutely zero respect for whatever marriage his father had suffered, a fact Wicks was well aware of.

Now, Daveg was screaming towards the various Seperatist soldiers gathered nearby, yelling loudly, "Execute them! We'll be their judges, their executioners - we will show them what sort of justice they've earned with their dastardly conduct!" Gaibriel smirked at the man's lofty verbiage. Seriously, who used words like "dastardly" with a straight face? He glanced over at the ever so helpful grouping of soldiers, saw them raising up a series of rifles.

Gaib spun on a single booted heel, lifting his arm over his head to fling the fire grenade he'd been thumbing against the back of his thigh while Daveg continued what he'd begun to suspect was an endless tirade. Fortunately for him, the soldiers had all gathered together into a tidy little group nearby a single console. Made things so much simpler that way! The explosion sent several gouts of flame shooting up into the air, igniting against the ragtag uniforms the men were all wearing. Corso would've said it was good there were no females in the group, and as he watched the writhing mass of screaming, flaming figures there in front of them Gaibriel was inclined to agree.

Feminine screams might have proved uncomfortable to anyone's sensibilities, anyway. Hells, the men's screams were bad enough, he thought. Daveg was frozen in fascinated horror as he watched the soldiers flailing and screaming from the pain, too, though. They rushed around like maddened creatures for several long moments, before finally collapsing one by one into the saddest looking heaps Gaibriel had seen in ages. He actually felt sorry for them, believe it or not.

But no time to waste, Gaibriel thought. He whipped out with his blaster - Flashy! Have to remember to call the thing by its proper name, dang it! - whipped out with the thing to smash against the side of Daveg's head. The big man grunted loudly, stunned, turning to look at Gaib with glassy unfocused brown eyes. He tried shaking his head, tried to refocus on the lean frame of the smuggler captain. At least long enough to actually do something. Raise his rifle up, maybe. But Gaibriel lifted Flashy up again, pressing the weapon's barrel against the Seperatist's wide forehead. Big damn forehead made for a really great target, he thought. One that was purely hard to miss.

Daveg's head just plain disappeared in a spray of bloody tissue from the force of Flashy's bolt sizzling through his thick skull. Gaibriel yelped when several drops of the man's blood hit against the shoulder of his jacket, cursing, "Shit! Fucking Skavak still has my ship's laundry machines, too!" He jerked his attention to the last pitiful Seperatist clinging desperatly to the backside of the console as Corso yelled at him to let go, pulling against the thin man's long legs to get him out from behind the measly shelter of the machine. Gaibriel watched the gambit for several long moments, until he realized Corso was becoming even more agitated when the man wouldn't let loose. His shouting made the loss of his temper obvious enough, especially when he started screaming at the poor man about his dead parents, "You think they tried hiding from you Seperatist bastards, tried staying out of the way of your blaster fire? Do you think so? I do!"

Gaibriel shook his head as the pitiful Seperatist started begging Corso for his life. Something about the whole scene hit him wrong. Maybe it was because the skinny guy really had tried hiding, rather than yelling about justice and executions. Namely his and Corso's. Although now that he considered it, it was funny that he'd be pretty pissed if someone tried executing Corso, too. How'd the man managed to get under his skin that damn fast? Right damn there with Wicks and Nikki, maybe. Reminded him of Wicks' description of their own first meeting, actually. "_Never thought I'd feel so strongly about what might happen to a strange kid - some shit-faced cretin's poor slave, no less! It was mind-boggling! Although there was something weird about yer eyes, too ... things always seem to leap out at a person. Uncanny, that!" _

Gaib leaned forward only slightly, trying to see if he could discern anything strange about Corso's eyes. But there wasn't anything truly unusual about the man, that he could make out. The scars, maybe. He had the weirdest scars along the strong lines of both his cheeks. Like they were deliberately put there, somehow. Did someone cut him? Then he noted the burning expression on his face, the absolute rage there. The sense he'd failed, that he'd somehow let down those people who counted on him, was blatantly obvious in every line of his face. He'd wager real money those scars were of his own making, a means of venting the trauma, the hurt.

This wouldn't help, wouldn't soothe that pain. It would only bury Corso even more into the sheer bloody darkness that was eating away at him already. The little Seperatist actually burst into tears, even, begging wildly, "Please ... don't! I didn't, I swear it! Wasn't me! I just ... I've only been here a couple of months, I swear! Please ... my family, I have a family, too! ... don't!" Oh, fuck this! So not going to happen, not today.

Gaibriel snorted loudly at Corso, "This isn't helping, Corso."

"It's helping me feel better!"

"Is it? Really? Cause you're looking like one seriously messed up guy right now. Better just isn't the word I'd be using to describe anything about you. I mean it," Gaibriel stepped closer to the two men, watched as Corso seemed to freeze in place, there. Still holding onto the whimpering Seperatists legs, looking down at him as he held onto the console and cried great big tears of panic. "What will you do after this guy's dead, huh? Find another one? How many do you imagine it will take, Corso? Might want to start thinking on it, the way you're acting. Because one ... two ... more. Somewhere along the way you won't be able to call yourself a man anymore. Just a blind, raging animal. That's all."

Corso glared down at the Seperatist. He breathed in and out in rough bursts, before finally dropping the man's boots back down onto the floor. He growled at the fool, "Just get the hell up off the floor, for the love of pete." He turned his gaze away, looking towards the wall as the fellow climbed unsteadily to his feet, trembling as he stood there in front of them. He ignored the man completely, thinking wildly of how far away from Ord Mantell he really needed to go, how distant he needed to be. For now, at least. He just had to get away, find some damn peace. Find some kind of balance again. He looked at the captain, wonderingly.

Gaibriel was right then sighing dramatically at the shaking figure, leaning closer to him to whisper, "Might want to tell me where my ship is ... it's been driving Corso out of his ever-loving mind. Can't you tell?" The Seperatist just looked at him, his mouth hanging open in complete and abject shock, his face wet with the worst tears. Corso couldn't help but laugh. He mentally crossed his fingers the captain would keep him around long enough to laugh over and over again. Damn the stars, but he'd laughed more in the brief few weeks since meeting the captain than he had in the entire blasted year since losing his family. He needed that, needed it like he needed a bandage wrapped over a bleeding wound.

And he watched as Gaib slanted a look at him through his thick lashes. The captain winked softly at him.

* * *

"Aww, no, Viidu," Corso murmured softly as he knelt onto one knee there against the hard floor next to Viidu's still-bleeding body. He reached out to smooth his fingers against the man's neck, searching for a pulse. Not that he expected to find one but it seemed decent to at least try and save him, if possible. Even if the blood that continued to slowly leak from the holes in his chest made his survival purely unlikely.

Syreena burst into tears, there in Gaibriel's grip. She feebly tried pulling away from him but he held her fast, smoothly yanking the blaster from her rigid fingers. Her face looked splotchy, with splashes of reddened skin against the pale blanched expression she was struggling to conceal. She finally collapsed, shaking, into Gaibriel's arms and started wailing, "Skavak left me here! How could he do this to me? I thought he loved me ... Noooo!"

Gaibriel leaned his head back, looking up towards the ceiling with a sigh of pure exasperation, begging towards some kind of divinity, "Why me? Really, what did I ever do ... ? Damn it. Don't answer that!"


	10. Chapter 9 -- Still Hungry

Gaibriel jerked awake, almost tumbling to the floor as he tried shifting across the narrow, unfamiliar surface. He grumbled sourly to himself as he sat up, rubbing one hand down the front of his face as he blinked. Starlight flooded across the space through the nearby viewscreen as the transport trundled slowly towards Coruscant, especially with the pale illumination coming from the halo lamps Corso had dimmed hours earlier.

He yawned wide, reaching his hands above his head in a regular stretch to pull against his muscles. He ignored the small cot against the terribly tiny wall set behind him. Hell, he'd wager real credits his backside would be aching for a month thanks to this little excursion. Corso had laughed when Gaibriel stared in stupefied silence into the small closet of a space they'd been allotted for the shuttle ride to the Republic home world. "Take it you're used to better, captain," Corso had chuckled.

"Corso, there are understatements galore in the galaxy. Would rather never have come across this one." He had kicked against the narrow cot, shaking his head. "Idiot Syrena. She should've known better. Anyone given a berth like this one should've suspected she was in line for a boot in her ass."

"What makes you say that?"

Gaibriel only tossed his head back, laughing, "Corso, you and me need to discuss the fine technique of positioning a woman under you, if you can look at that skinny little pillow of a bed and ask that question. Be lucky if it's only the bed you'd end up breaking, actually." He eyed the narrow cot. "There's no way Skavak planned on sharing this cabin with Syrena. Ever."

Corso scowled, "Stop, yer gonna make me puke thinking of Skavak with Syrena like that. Bastard had her twisted into knots."

Gaib only shook his head, "No sympathy from me. Her damn snot stained my jacket." Corso only eyed him with amusement, although he didn't say anything. Probably a good thing, or he might have marched right back off the shuttle to find the little twit and shoot her the way he'd considered as she blubbered over Viidu's poor corpse. Some people needed shooting, of course. But Syreena proved too pathetic, what with her caterwauling nonsense. He'd swear those were real tears the woman suffered.

Made more sense in the end to blame Skavak for Viidu's death. More satisfying, too. Now _he_ deserved a good shooting. Preferably right up the damn ass.

Gaibriel continued stretching, rolling his shoulders until all the muscles were loose and wiry. He sidestepped towards the minuscule corner that passed for a refresher stall, eyed it balefully. There was a sonic shower, at least. Big enough for his lean frame, once he ducked his head. Didn't prevent him from bumping his elbow no less than three times against the shower wall, yelping every time. He muttered darkly, "Hair-brained fuckface Skavak! I want my ship back ... I'm going to drop-kick you into the nearest asteroid belt, watch you from the bridge of the Way as you choke!" He continued mumbling to himself as he finished bathing.

Gaib was yanking his boots back into place over his feet when Corso edged through the door, carrying a plate with something that even looked edible on it. The smuggler shot him an amused glance, "Please tell me there's nothing _green_ on that plate. And sauce! I like dipping sauces." He twisted around, ducking his head under the bed to make sure nothing precious important had rolled under there. He muttered as he rooted through his packs, carefully counting his possessions. The thunk of the plate against the brief side table near the cot dragged his attention back to Corso, and Gaib turned to regard him again, his black eyebrow curving upwards as he took in Corso's stormy-looking expression.

"What bug crawled up your butt, Corso? I have medical training enough I might be able to yank it outta there," he chuckled.

Corso leaned back against the wall as he crossed his arms loosely over his chest. He'd knotted his own black hair into its customary braids, so that his hair wasn't falling into his face anymore. But his normally jovial features were tight with angry mistrust as he stared back at Gaibriel. Gaib thumbed towards the corner where Corso's rifle was stowed, smiling bemusedly, "Here's where I suppose I'm glad you're not prepared to shoot me. Even though I don't know what I did wrong. Yer not married, are you, Corso? Hate to think I slept with your wife at some point." He leaned to the side, trying to check Corso's hip. "You planning on gutting me with Hewie?"

Corso shrugged at him, "You talk in your sleep, captain." Gaibriel only blinked as he sat there, staring at Corso as he waited for the Mantellian to continue. His lips twitched as he tried to avoid laughing at him, even. Corso straightened up, standing there near the door as he clenched his hands into two hard fists, "You've got an accent you've been hiding!"

"Oh. That." Gaibriel shrugged as he jerked his pack across the narrow cot. He eyed the plate of food Corso had brought to the room, wondering why he'd gone to such a length if he was all hot and bothered with him at the moment. The food looked interesting enough. Some sort of meat sandwich, it looked like. He refused to ask what sort of meat it was, mostly because he didn't bother over such delicate considerations. Too many years scrambling for whatever food he could manage to snatch up made for no real aversion to any sort of food. Except for stewed vegetables, which every one of his owners thought was well nigh good enough - probably cheap enough, more likely - for the pitiful stomachs of the people they'd possessed.

Gaib clucked his tongue when he noted the fried crispics next to the sandwich, though. "Love these things," he admitted to Corso as he picked one up and popped the tiny meat-filled crust into his mouth. Corso cursed.

"You're an Imperial!"

Gaibriel chewed the crispic slowly, shaking his head. He gulped before responding, "Am not."

"I heard you!"

Gaibriel sighed as he looked up at the roof of their brief quarters. He tried remembering what it was he'd been dreaming about when he woke up. He had a vague notion of a dark rain-filled sky, which tended to dominate quite a few of Gaib's dreams so he didn't question it overmuch. He was still curious, though. "Corso, would you mind telling me what it is I actually said in this Imperial accent that's got you all bent out of shape? I'd hate to think I said something really damn embarrasing. Trying to remember if I dreamed I was walking around in nothing but my underwear, actually."

"So not funny, captain."

Gaibriel looked towards Corso sharply, his eyes looking quite suddenly like cold crystals there in his face, burning fierce. "Fine. No joking, then. Now what the fuck did I say?"

Corso stared at him, surprised. The captain looked well able to wrap Corso's braids around his neck a few times, actually. Corso frowned as he tried to recall what the captain had been mumbling in his sleep, rather than only the tone he used as he muttered. "You said something about going home, that you wanted to stay outside. There was a bit about getting your clothes cleaned up. And a name, I think."

Gaibriel's eyebrows went up. "What name?"

"Kas. You called to someone named Kas. Maybe. I don't know."

Gaib grunted as he reached towards the plate for another crispic, nibbled on it slowly. He looked away, distantly nodding, "She used to drag me outside to play in the rain. We'd get all soaked through, until we were soundly scolded. But it never seemed to matter." Corso watched him as he settled down to munch through the rest of the crispics. Gaibriel ate fast, like he wasn't certain he'd get another meal anytime soon. Not the first time he'd watched Gaib eating like that. He remembered Viidu laughing at the captain, "You're inhaling the stuff like it's going to disappear, captain ... bah! Enjoy it while we can, I say!" The habit seemed particularly pertinent suddenly, though, Corso thought. And why did he feel like such an ass all of a sudden?

Gaib jumped to his feet suddenly, "I'm still hungry, Corso." Corso knew it was a lie. Hell, the sandwich was still sitting there on the plate, unnoticed. The captain just wanted to leave their brief quarters, his eyes bleak with loss as he looked for an escape. Corso looked down at the floor as Gaibriel stepped out through the door, padding away. He wanted to kick something, not the least of which because he wasn't truly clear just yet on what sort of loyalties the captain could claim. But it didn't stop him from suspecting, that rather than being some fervent Imperial lackey, Gaibriel was a very real, very firm dyed and true renegade from Imperial policy. And for some really good damn reason, too.

* * *

The female wrapped her slim red legs around his hips as Gaibriel lifted her, leaning her up against the wall just inside the narrow quarters she'd pulled him towards. She hummed happily as he slid his mouth against the soft skin of her throat, deliberately rubbing the side of his face along her lekku to create the erotic thrill he knew Twi'lek enjoyed from such playful motions. She began rocking her hips into his groin, humping her sex towards his own in sheer demand, and then she backed it up by whispering against his ear, "Hurry ... I'm so damn close."

He grunted as he reached down to open his pants, tearing against the fastening, "Can't move much faster, darling. We're still dressed." She rushed, lowering her legs so that she could yank and pull against her clothes. He chuckled when he heard the telltale ripping of fabric, "Hot little thing. Or just hungry?"

"Both." She raised up her arms once she was completely naked, the red skin of her face wreathed with perspiration and eagerness. He caressed the ear bumps along both sides of her face, leaning down so he could grip her lips in a heated kiss, thrusting his tongue inside to taste her. She whimpered, "Now."

"I'm still dressed."

She grumbled, "You uncovered the important part, didn't you?"

Gaib laughed softly, before he reached under her to hold onto the backs of her thighs, lifting her back against the wall again. Her head fell back against the wall as he entered her forcefully. He didn't hesitate, though. Just pulled back to thrust into her again. And again. He set a hard, rough rhythm, so that her slender butt thudded steadily against the wall behind her. She lay her forehead against his collarbone, moaning in tandem with every push of his hard length inside of her, almost crying as the pleasure built. He hit against a sweet spot deep inside of her, something she'd never felt before, so that she yelped loudly. And then he nipped along the edge of her lekku, scraping his teeth gently where he knew she was most sensitive, and she came, tightening so much around him that he couldn't help but follow her. He tossed his head back as he orgasmed, hard, in one single rush.

She murmured, "You were hungry, too." She smiled lightly as he grumbled agreement, his head drifting downwards to rest in the curve of her throat. He panted softly as they rested for several moments. Then she lowered her legs down to the floor. He stepped away to straighten his clothes, while she reached out to wrap herself in one of the cabin's thin blankets, sitting along the edge of the tiny bed. She cocked her head as she watched him, "Do you feel better now?"

He laughed, "Sweetheart, I'm man enough to admit there are alot of things I'm stupid about. But telling a woman who's hugged me so hotly as you just did, that I'm feeling anything but pleased, is not one of them." She smiled happily as she plopped backwards onto her thin cot. She turned her head to watch him roll his hips, readjusting his pants back into comfortable shape over the bulge between his legs. She murmured appreciatively. He smiled at her, a crooked grin that she reached over to smooth a single red finger across as she hummed. He asked her, "What're you called? Not that I'll stop calling you sweetheart, mind you."

"Mirry. Although I don't really expect you to call me anything after this small ride to Coruscant."

"But it was such a nice ride," he crooned.

And she smiled at him, heartened by the compliment even as she acknowledged it wasn't any kind of promise, either.

She'd noticed him the night before, along with a young soldier, well-armored, who'd apparently come straight from some Mantellian battlefield. They'd both been covered liberally in dust and sweat, rushing on board as if chased by hounds. Gaib had remarked as he crossed along in front of her, "It's like a damn obstacle course getting off this world! And remind me to send Rogun a thank you note for his send-off party. Pricks!" He'd almost yelled that last, turning around to raise one of his middle fingers towards the spaceport as the hatchway doors slowly closed.

He hadn't looked any happier when he tramped his way into the lounge this morning, either. He'd eyed the sabacc tables thoughtfully, just before heading towards the bar where he'd proceeded to slam down several beverages she assumed were meant to thoroughly slosh his way towards oblivion. Not one to look such a gift horse in the mouth, she'd sashayed her way towards him. But he'd knocked her for a thorough loop, manuevering himself carefully to prevent her from getting too close to the packs slung against his back even while he chuckled and joked with her amiably.

Hell, she thought as she watched him now. He was still cold sober and never mind the drinks he'd tossed towards the back of his throat. She was the one who'd ended up swaying against the bar like a damn sot, with only the incredibly good-looking smuggler to hold her up. He'd finally leaned over to ask her, gently, "What do you need, sweetheart? I'll take care of you for a little while, hmmm." And he'd nuzzled her alongside one of her ear bumps, sending an amazing thrill through to her very core. No mark, she'd decided. Just pure pleasure. And she'd most certainly taken advantage of the pleasure he offered, she thought now, stretching.

But the sudden jolt of the ship's motion, the terrible jerk as some hidden enemy fired on the vessel, sent her tumbling to the floor. She cried out when her shoulder impacted roughly against the surface, felt the ripping pain as it was neatly dislocated. But Gaib suddenly pulled her closer to him, tucking her small body into the curve of his own to hold her until the terrible wrenching of the surfaces around them finally slowed and the ship was still. She whimpered against his throat, felt him shifting so he could look up and around them.

She peeled her eyes open, grimacing through the dull throbbing of her shoulder. The lights were flickering behind Gaibriel's head and she could see the red glow of the emergency alarms. He yanked at one of his packs, pulling out a small device that he placed against her pained side. She yelped when he applied a jolt to her upper arm, but the sudden numbness that spread through her afterwards was the most incredible relief and she grinned loopily at him. He smiled back, right before reaching out to yank her shoulder back into place. "Didn't hurt," she whimpered.

Gaib nodded at her, "Medicine will make you feel fuzzy for a bit. Let's get you somewhere safe. I need to find Corso."

"The guy who hurt your feelings?"

He looked scandalized, actually. She giggled at the affronted glance he sent her. He only snorted, "Guys don't get their little feelings hurt, dangit. He just pissed me off!"

"Whatever you say, tough guy."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Who? Me? Nooo!"

* * *

Gaibriel's hair was soaked through with sweat by the time he finally found Corso.

Because of course Corso couldn't be trusted to keep his ass somewhere safe and out of harm's way, noooo! Although he had managed to get a goodly number of the weeping, wailing, and whining civilians into a nearby cargo hold where they could find some negligible security from the jerks wearing Imperial uniforms that seemed to be cropping up all over the damn ship. That's where he'd tucked Mirry, too. He'd have to thank Corso for discovering the hidey-hole. _After_ he kicked him straight across the damn butt for not staying there with them, mind you.

He marveled that a transport he'd thought would prove comfortable and plush enough to make up for the piss-poor time he'd endured on Ord Mantell looking for his own ship could've ended up being so much of a damn headache, actually. He even said so to the last few Imperial soldiers he shot as he made his way down the corridor towards Engineering, yelling at them, "Even the fucking showers on this transport suck balls! Why the hell are you guys so intent on getting on board?"

And now this. Corso had planted himself between a thin Twi'lek woman and a rather unimportant-looking console. The woman's tiny blue finger poked angrily in the air towards him as she yelled, "You'll move out of the way! We don't have time for this!" But Corso only glared at her, mutinous as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Not going to let you flush them into space like a load of trash, whether you're an Ambassador or not. It's wrong!" Corso very nearly shouted back at the woman. Gaibriel was actually pleased he was willing to disrespect a female to that great an extent, honestly. He was normally bowled right over by anyone with tits. He glanced towards Corso's crotch, wondering when he'd grown a pair. Although he acknowledged, too, he was only angry with Corso, still. Which made his judgments where Corso was concerned a tad suspect, of course.

The pair of troopers standing to the side of the arguing pair caught sight of him as he stepped closer, although neither Corso or his Twi'lek opponent noticed his approach. Gaibriel just nodded to Simi, watched her blue eyes twinkle at him fondly right before she shot her attention back to the altercation. "You're right about one thing, ma'am. We really don't have time for this. The engineers indicate an alternative course of action. Why don't we try it, rather than stand here bitching at each other."

Gaibriel looked towards the pale amber glow of a force field which hindered access to the engineering section, considered the small group of men huddling around an angry-looking Chief who kept pointing at the Twi'lek. Smart guys, those engineers. Certainly kept the Imperials from accessing engineering. Only it seemed the apparently important, albeit unassumingly dressed Twi'lek was determined to force her way through their barrier, and never mind what it took to do it, either. The engineers were trembling with agitation there behind the force field, even. They kept screaming about the computer consoles that could reroute signals to the bridge, so they could get through to the crew kept hostage there.

A true stand-off, it seemed. One Twi'lek politician from the Republic versus a minor Mantellian soldier loosely supported by a pair of Cathar troopers.

Gaibriel would've called a greeting to Simi. He'd certainly appreciated the way she fit against him, all snugly tight and hot, when they found a room above the cantina back on Ord Mantell. One of the few decent memories of the place he'd taken away, in fact. But the stupid Twi'lek nabbed the Cathar's attention suddenly, turning her head to bark at the pair of troopers, "You, soldiers! Both of you! Get him out of the way! Shoot him if you have to!"

Simi scowled at her, "Pardon me, Ambassador Asara. But you're in no position to give me orders. I don't even know who you are, in fact. Have only your word you even support the Republic. Although I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. The Imps invading the ship don't seem to like you, at least."

Asara actually stomped her foot. "Fine! I'll do it myself, then. Wouldn't be the first time I had to do what's necessary." She yanked a slender blaster from the belt against her side, turning to face Corso as she gestured at him with the weapon. The Mantellian whitened, his face going taut as he stared down at the woman. Not that he made any move to defend himself, though. He only stood there, calmly watching as her finger tightened against the trigger.

Damn you, Corso! Fucking pansy-assed unwillingness to fight a female would get him killed someday, Gaib thought, cursing under his breath. Not today, though.

She froze when the barrel of Gaibriel's blaster gently touched the side of her head. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, watched as a bit of sweat, black from the grease and soot he'd fought through to reach Corso, rolled slowly down along the angled curve of his jaw. He was glaring at her, through eyes that looked like cut blue glass. He spoke to her, low, hard, "You put a bolt in him, and I'll give you a headache to match the one I'm currently suffering. Trust me, you won't like it." Her own eyes went wide and scared.

She murmured, "You're his brother, aren't you?"

Gaibriel shook his head, looking bewildered all of a sudden, "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Simi chuckled over at him as she ambled closer. She was still a striking figure, all covered as she was in the softest pelt he could remember rolling against. Her armor wasn't able to hide the curves he'd stroked, either. Her male companion was frowning furiously as he loomed behind her, though. "All humans look alike, really. But you two share fur coloring, too."

Gaib smirked at her. "As I recall, you have no concept of the _fur_ that covers him. Now, me on the other hand …"

Simi's pale-furred Cathar companion growled lightly.

* * *

Corso gasped, scrambling away from the electrical storm that poured from the fingers of the pale-skinned … thing. His mind was screaming, the word sizzling through his brain as he stumbled over his own feet trying to get away from it, yelling the truth, "Sith!" The monster, the bogey-man of all his mother's stories, all those tales she used to try and help him understand why bad things happened to good people.

His body jerked, a yelping scream whistling from him as the jolt of flaring lightning struck him suddenly, harshly. He collapsed backwards against the floor, dimly aware of the approaching Sith. He moaned as he glanced around, looking for his rifle. But then a shadow interposed itself, standing between him and the fast moving monster.

Corso looked up, watching bemusedly as Gaibriel raised Flashy high, steadily threatening the Sith. Like the man was hardly worth concern, in fact. Corso raised himself up to a single knee, reaching for the rifle he'd dropped down on the floor. He gripped his weapon, raising himself slowly to his feet, just as Gaibriel grumbled towards the Sith.

"I've seen enough of your fancy light show. It's pretty enough, I mean. But I've got better things to do, and you're in my way."

The youngish Sith stopped, staring at the smuggler with a confused look on his face. Then his pale features tightened into heady threat, as he glared at Gaibriel with brightly gleaming red eyes. Red eyes. Corso shook his head, wondering if the thing was even human as he considered the Sith's grey-tinged skin and unnatural coloring. He had the sudden thought he was glad the Sith was robed and hooded. He didn't want to see if it had hair. Anywhere.

The Sith lifted up a single slender palm, waving his fingers through the air as he growled at Gaib, "You will kneel so that I can mete your just dues. You will understand what it is to face the power of a true Sith." But Gaibriel only snorted. Corso watched as the Sith blinked, as if he'd expected the captain to do precisely what he'd been told. Hell, that thought almost made Corso snort, too. A lot of things he could imagine Gaibriel Duncan doing. But kneeling in front of a Sith - no way.

That understanding, the utter hard certainty of it – it made Corso stop, his mind whirling madly as he realized how stupid he'd been, how just plain dumb. He felt exactly like the backwater lout he was so often called, by all those fancy visitors who visited his home world to view its pink clouds and natural wonders. Mostly because his damn bungling had, he knew, really hurt the captain. Corso felt like even more of an ass, if that was possible. Especially as he watched Gaibriel defending him yet again.

Fuck, no, Corso thought. No fucking way was this Sith going to win the fight, was going to take down his captain. Not while he had a breath left in his body.

Gaib shrugged, though, "I know what Sith power is, idiot. Problem you have to deal with, is that I don't fucking _care_. It never impressed me, and certainly not when it's only your pitiful self that's waving it around." Gaibriel sneered at him towards the end, watching as the youngish Sith came completely unglued. Typical of the Sith, who relied on the strength of their emotions, without any regard for the even better ability to control them. They allowed themselves to become like mere dervishes of unfocused energy. Just accidents waiting to happen. And Gaib was a perfect architect of the most brilliant accidents, too.

The Sith was so damn engrossed in his fervent anger at Gaibriel that he never even noticed the careful steps of the troopers moving into place behind him. Gaib smiled when Simi whipped her rifle up, slamming the hard butt of the weapon against the back of the Sith's head. The Sith cried out piteously as the pain burst through his skull. He fell forward, onto his knees, as he clutched his head. And Simi followed through on the attack, pushing into the center of his back so that he tumbled even further, falling almost face forward on the floor. Then she leaped backwards, giving her comrade the chance to open up with that fucking cannon he held against his side.

The boom of the weapon's fire filled the place. That, and Gaibriel's shouting, too. "How's _our_ light show working out for you, huh?" He laughed when the smoke cleared, enough they could discern what was left of the Sith lying there in a bloody sodden heap on the floor. Gaibriel only twisted a smile towards Corso over his shoulder, "You know, it doesn't look good on any Moff's record, when he loses a Sith to a minor boarding party. What do you want to bet Kilran goes back and tells them all it was a dozen Jedi who did it?"

* * *

Corso wrapped the blaster pieces he was working over into the soft polishing cloth, pushing the entire bundle into his bag as he pushed through the door into the larger quarters they'd been assigned after the assault. Part of Haken's reward, apparently. The officer had been grateful enough for their efforts in freeing the ship from the Imperials, after all. Gaibriel had leaped on the proffered rewards, chuckling when the troopers turned their noses up at the opportunity.

Gaibriel winked at them, "You sure that cannon your Jorgan lugs around will fit into the closets that pass for cabins down there? I mean, I haven't seen him undressed, so I can't say for sure. Just thought you should reconsider." The look on the sergeant's face had proved priceless. He'd looked at the captain like he was a bitter nexu preparing to strike, all bared teeth and fiercely raging eyes. Corso wasn't sure his laughing at him helped overmuch, either. But Simi only smirked, "Oh, I'm pretty sure he knows where to tuck it away so that it'll fit. No worries."

That's when Gaib bent over in a fit of laughter of his own. Corso had been gratified as he watched the captain laugh, if only because it was the first time in days he'd seen the normally effusive smuggler actually enjoy himself.

Corso stopped just inside the cabin, now, confused as he considered the unfamiliar voice trilling from the holoterminal on the other side of the room, "So that's him? You know, when I sent you off to Ord Mantell, Gaib, I didn't mean for you to exchange my ship for a Mantellian."

"First, the Way's mine now. Unless you're looking to come out of retirement once you've got Nikki away from the Imps, Wicks. Offer's always on the table, you know that. Second, the fucker who's currently leaving his skivvies on the floor of my cabin is going to regret every single germ he leaves behind, trust me."

Corso examined the figure Gaibriel was addressing on the holo, vaguely remembering Viidu's comments regarding the original captain of the Freedom's Way. He canted his head, confused as he considered Wicks Duncan. If only because the man looked almost nothing like Gaibriel, and never mind that they shared a name. And a ship, apparently. He muttered at Gaibriel, incredulous, "_He's_ your father?" Wicks Duncan had _black_ eyes, not blue, deeply set in his face. And his skin was darker than Gaibriel's, too. A rich tan he probably kept all the time, whether he got plenty of sun or not.

It was Wicks who laughed outloud, "Gaibriel won't let me call him son, even though he won't deny it when others do. Doesn't matter. We're kin the way it counts, is all. Doesn't matter if some other man actually _made_ him." Wicks winked towards Gaibriel, "Not like Gaib's so much quicker to tell people it was an Imperial officer who can claim him as son, anyway."

Gaibriel snorted softly, "My father's dead, according to all records, Wicks. Won't claim anything in Imperial space. Ever."

Wicks shrugged. Corso sensed the man wasn't angry, didn't feel bothered or upset. This was an old argument between them, something they'd talked over and long since come to terms with, rather. Enough that the both of them were comfortable enough to banter over it, now. "Not like you don't remember the fellow fondly enough, though."

Gaibriel hesitated, glancing towards Corso. But he nodded, eventually, "Yea, well, that doesn't change much of anything. I'm no damn Imperial."

Corso lifted his chin, looking towards Wicks with a serious expression. "The captain certainly proved it to the Sith trying to keep us tethered to Moff Kilran's ship. Blew the bastard away, right there in the hangar of that Imperial cruiser!" Gaibriel tried hushing him, reaching out to grab against Corso's elbow. But it was too late.

Wicks roared across the holoterminal, "You're killing Sith and invading Imperial ships? Are you out of your fucking ever-loving mind, Gaib? Why don't you just write a damn sign, hang it around your neck - something that reads, 'Former Imperial slave, come find me now!' maybe. Son of a bitch!"

* * *

**Fried Crispics were small snack rolls, usually filled with meat inside a crust, that were deep-fried. Normally found in cantinas, actually. They first appeared as a side dish that could be made by a trade profession in the MMO, Star Wars: Galaxies.**


	11. Chapter 10 -- The Worth of a Coin

_His father's uniform was never pressed as scratchy stiff as the ones the other officers would wear. Lucian would only shake his dark head, rather, when he saw those officers strolling along, their uniforms so clean they practically gleamed. He explained to Gaibriel, a slight disgusted smirk etching his mouth as he watched them, "Fools. Probably never once stuck their fingers into the bloody hole left behind by a blaster. Any man who's clothes are so clean you can't tell what kind of work he does, isn't a man you depend on, Gaib. You'll always be better than them. Remember that."_

_Remembering was tough, though._

_It fucking hurt._

_And he washed the blood off of his jacket, refusing to think how proud his father would be it'd been bloodied in the first place._

* * *

Gaibriel grimaced as he considered the message flashing up at him from the holoterminal, muttering to himself as he glanced sideways towards Corso.

Hell, he'd not even set eyes on Rilla for months, not since that last time, when the thugs her proud papa sent managed to blow up a water-processing station nearby the speeder sales lot where she was eeking out a small living on Tattooine. Just some minor kerfuffle involved in getting her off-world again. In fact, the biggest ruckus came from Rilla's boss, who spent the entire time trying to figure out who the target of that particular hunt really was. Gaib still wondered who the Devaronian was, that he'd have some kind of bounty on him that left him in such a near-blind panic. Although he didn't put much effort into finding out, either. Some things a man was just better off not knowing, he firmly believed.

Regardless, it seemed Rilla's father back on Mirial was still eager to get his "baby girl" back home. Enough that he'd apparently flagged Gaibriel, yet again, for "continued and flagrant endangerment of one Mirialan child, lead astray to wander among the most dangerous denizens of the galaxy, unprotected." Gaib shook his dark head, mumbling sourly about piss-poor plots that would never really work except to drive some innocent smuggler to distraction. Corso grunted some sound of amusement, "So when's the last time you could really claim innocence, captain?"

Gaibriel blinked owlishly towards him, "Oh, I'm a model of upright and respectful decency, trust me. I'll even prove it to you! Now, go distract that customs droid!" Corso beamed him an irreverent grin as he stepped forward to confront the approaching droid, its silver chassis stenciled with the blue insignia that described the Coruscant customs service. Gaibriel quickly ducked his head, kneeling down in front of the console to yank and pull against the machine's wiring. He grinned when the swipe against the terminal of the duplicate identification Wicks insisted he carry _everywhere_ produced a new message, along with the chirping song, "Thank you, Republic citizen! Perhaps visit the market square in the Senate Plaze once again, Mayor Ryl Doon."

Gaib smiled widely as he turned away from the console. He sauntered towards Corso, listening as the soldier thoroughly befuddled the droid with sheer inanities, "... Yea, but after I see the advertisement for the hand sanitizer up above that last intersection, which way do I turn? Place is huge! And crowded. And ... dirty. Don't you ever clean up the streets? Now, back on Ord Mantell, we work our asses off ..." Gaibriel chuckled as he grabbed Corso's elbow and pulled him away, assuring the droid he'd provide him direction enough.

"You know, Corso. This act you got going, making everyone think you're nothing but a simple rube - it's pretty good." Gaib suddenly flung out one single hand, just as they emerged out from the entrance leading inside the spaceport straight into the crowd milling there. He grabbed at the brown hand trying to skulk its way around the straps that secured his packs up against his lean frame, laughing into bright yellow eyes of the Zabrack boy the hand belonged to, even while the youngster gasped in shocked fear. He leaned closer to the boy, whispering, "The trick is to pretend that your fingers belong to someone else. Lets them feel as light as air, till they ghost right over every buckle and fold of cloth."

Corso lifted his chin after the Zabrack boy jerked loose of Gaibriel's grip and dashed away. "Hey, I went _back_ to Ord Mantell. So it's not completely an act. Just … reminds me of my folks, I guess. They were simple people. Nothing wrong with simplicity. There's comfort in it, even." He glanced over when Gaibriel's back as they meandered along, looked over the captain's shoulder at the twilight cast of the sky that extended over the loud, long lines of air traffic moving along Coruscant's avenues. "Your own family wasn't anything like that, though, huh."

Gaib stopped, shrugging lightly as he pointed towards the curved mushroom-shaped structure that housed the Galactic Senate. Fingers of sunlight bounced along the surface, until it looked golden-fired, like burnished wealth against the pale blue sky overhead. "It was Darth Malgus who lead the Empire's attack on Coruscant, you know. They say he marched into the Jedi Temple itself with his lover at his side." He leaned his hip against the railing that secured the walkway, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the sun disappearing behind the Senate Building, "She was wounded during the fight. Little Twi'lek female. Just a slave. But she was important to him, enough he flew into a rage when he found her lying bleeding in some base clinic in the common area of the city."

Gaibriel reached into one of his packs. He held up a single credcoin, some minor disk that shined brightly silver in the gloaming light. "Darth Malgus personally awarded a single coin to the Imperial doctor that patched up his lover's wounds. Worthless, really. The coin and the woman both, actually. But it was a coin the Darth had yanked from the possession of one of the Jedi he fought in the Temple. Just some useless thing he didn't mind giving over to the man who healed his lover after the Jedi wounded her." He twirled the credcoin against his fingers, playing with it as he chuckled, "I've stood here plenty of times contemplating the irony of the thing, the hands it's passed through just to come back full circle to the place it was first stolen."

Corso stared at him for a long moment. But he didn't make Gaib wonder for long what he was thinking. "You think the woman was worthless?"

Gaibriel's gaze flew up to meet his, brightly glittering with sage humor. Priceless, he thought. Of all things for him to ask - who was the doctor, where did he go, what happened to him - no, it was the woman he wondered about. "The Empire measures every person's worth against a scale I hope you never understand, Corso. Me? I pissed all over the scale before setting it on fire." He looked away, grinning. "Kept the coin, though."

* * *

**I know it's a short chapter but I've been slammed lately. Still, Gaibriel had to make it safe and sound to Coruscant, at least. What this means, mind you, is that the next chapter will be coming up very shortly. Here's hoping that's good news for you all.**


	12. Chapter 11 -- Slave Collars

"Hey ... You! Captain! Rogun the Butcher put a bounty on your head!"

"Really? Hope it looks better than that mess on _your_ head. What the hell is that, anyway? Hair? Or did a womp rat crawl up there and die?"

"What ... you? Are you ...? Hey ... Shut up!"

"Damn, sounds like the rat took your tongue, too."

"I'm going to blast you!"

"Hmm, too bad. You look to be too young to die."

"Hah! I've got a flamethrower!"

"Where'd you find it? Trash heap? There's plenty of trash around here, mind you. Corso keeps tripping over it. Just between you and me, he's not used to such messy living conditions."

"Fuck you!"

"Whoah, didn't know you like guys. Sorry, man. I'll stop making fun of your hair. Promise."

"Argh!"

* * *

Sabacc was a game of chance, of course. One never knew when the cards would be shuffled, that their values shifted, changed. Quite often without warning, to boot. Never mind, either, that standard gameplay had the values of certain cards locked from the start. No, a good player relied as much on knowing what his opponents were holding, than he did the shifting phases of the game.

That was his gift, his talent. No equivocation, no minor pussyfooting. Not for him. Darmas Pollaran simply, neatly measured and weighed whatever man approached him, until he knew his value and worth, sized them up until they fit into whatever box he decided they belonged. To coddle or wheedle them towards comradery, perhaps. More like useful tools, really. A favor here, an indulgence over there - and then you had a friend in just the right place, at the right time. Better that way. Because threats and browbeating rivalry was just plain, ordinary effort, and Darmas didn't enjoy _effort_.

Too messy. Too uncomfortable. You were only left to clean up the sweat, the blood, and the tears. He shuddered lightly just thinking of it. No, Darmas was more comfortable losing himself in the tired illusion of good will that he'd perfected. It certainly allowed him greater benefits, he thought, leaning back against his chair as the slim hand of a yellow-skinned Twi'lek female smoothed along his shoulder and over his chest until she was fondling his stomach with firm caressing fingers. The way he liked, she knew. Oh, yes, definitely a better benefit than to have persistent attacks from aggressive criminals intent on proving their mettle against him.

And then the smuggler raised up his dark head, until the glittering gaze of his blue eyes rested on Darmas himself. Only briefly. A swift glance, before he returned his consideration to the sabacc table, with its shifting twists of the cards and the droid trilling the pot's count. Corso was standing just behind the smuggler's chair, his face amused and interested by turns. Darmas would've thought Corso's awed surprise at the captain's lucky run over the sabacc table might ease his sense of miffed discomfiture. But that look in the man's eyes, the vivid flash of blue brilliance narrowed there in his face, was so greatly at odds with his brash, scrappy exterior, that Darmas knew he'd utterly misjudged the man sitting across from him.

A mistake, letting himself be so fooled. Mistakes were bad. Very bad.

Darmas scowled slowly, only barely biting the inside of his cheek before he vented some angry exclamation. He shrouded it all behind a rueful smile, a sigh of minor vexation, "You win again, captain. How many is that, by the by? Five? No, six wins, I believe." Damned if he'd show them how bothered he was, how angry that he'd been tricked so thoroughly. But Gaibriel skimmed a look towards him, so quick Darmas only might have blinked. And he knew Gaib was very aware of every nuance of vexation twisting his stomach into knots.

_Who in the Hells are you, where have you been hiding all this time, that you've burst onto the stage right when I can least afford to be caught off-balance, hmm?_ Darmas slid to his feet, turning away from Gaibriel's gaze as the captain gathered up his winnings and made to follow him. It didn't escape his notice, that the females who'd been draped against his back and shoulders were all of them, now, looking towards the young starship captain - with his firm muscled chest that stretched high over lean hips where the flashing gleam of a blaster rested - and he wondered yet again who'd made the man. Because he'd seen vids enough of Wicks Duncan to know this man, with his bright blue eyes and pale, pale skin, was no son of that particular captain.

Darmas didn't appreciate an unknown commodity. He'd know this one before the night was through, he promised himself. But Gaibriel tossed him an easy smirk as he dropped down onto one of the plush sofas in Darmas' cantina booth. And he wondered sullenly if Gaib was struggling as much to measure his own worth, as Darmas was in discerning Gaibriel's. The sense he'd been beaten at his own game welled up yet again, and Darmas nearly screamed in frustration. But he only smiled, lifting his chin into a determined scowl of pugnacious tenacity, thinking, "_Let the game begin_." Because, at least. There was always fun in playing another hand.

* * *

Gaibriel smoothed a single finger against the soft skin of his pale neck, just above the collar of his jacket. Corso slashed a glance towards him, his brown eyes wide with a sudden realization as he took in the burns that marked the green curves of Kixi's slender neck, where the slave collar normally sparked and spit out a terrible threat, keeping the woman under deliberately terrible control. Marks Corso suddenly recognized, and he felt his stomach twisting sickeningly as he remembered the slightly ridged scars against the turn of Gaibriel's neck, just where his shoulder began.

How many times did a slave collar have to burn you, how many times did a slaver have to activate the electric shock the collar delivered, before the skin was permanently marked like that? Corso lowered his head, breathing slowly as he pondered. But Kixi only frowned towards them, her big eyes wide above her green-skinned cheeks as Gaibriel gestured towards her collared neck, muttering, "Well, that explains why the Migrant Merchants have been gathering all those crystals, heh Corso?" Kixi gasped in alarm when Gaibriel reached for the collar, holding up her hands as if to ward them off.

"Hands off, idiot! I'm not looking to lose my damn head, here. Believe me!"

Gaib huffed a single sigh, "Just plain break my heart, why don't you? Like I don't know how to finangle something as simple as a slave collar." He lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers in front of Kixi's face with dramatic amusement. She shook her head tiredly, looking slightly bemused.

"Look, I highly doubt you came here looking for me. What do you want?"

Gaibriel scanned the woman's slender figure carefully, his dark eyebrow quirked into suggestive invitation. "Why wouldn't I come looking for you? You're worth it. Believe me."

Kixi laughed lightly, "Oh, yea, sure. Well, you're way more cute than the last human who came here looking for my skills. And you're certainly not friendly to the Merchants, not with the trail of bodies I saw you making on the vids." She murmured, glancing sideways towards the door leading out of the room where she was so typically imprisoned, "Hope they rot."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "Human who bothered you wouldn't be called dirty-assed scumbag Skavak, would he?"

Kixi's pale eyes narrowed as she regarded him, "Yea, you're definitely more cute than _him_. Skavak was an asshole."

Gaibriel hummed lightly, his blue eyes dancing with pretended amusement, hoping to set her at some small ease. He sidled around the small Mirialan woman, eyeing the connections the collar made against her throat. The large room was dominated by the terminals Kixi was made to work over, the machines blinking and warbling their steady refrain. Information bristled, buzzed there in the space. Hers to manipulate, to coerce. But only ever as she was directed. She had no real control, not with those awful fingers wrapped around her neck all the time.

Gaibriel's memory burned, hard. Dark places, where terrible things moved. And hard hands that shoved him straight towards the dark. Screams from the ones who'd already met the bad things, dying there so slowly and far from anyone who could help. Or even see. Anger, that his life, their lives, too, was reduced down to such a low price.

But he only shook his head, sending his hair flying back to the side of his forehead. Gaib concentrated on the collar, instead. He muttered softly as he worked against the thing with a tiny pick and needle he yanked from his pack, talking as much to calm Kixi as to gather vital details about lousy Skavak's movements on Coruscant, "What'd Skavak promise you, then? He's got a talent for convincing females to do whatever he wants."

"Oh, cause you never make promises so a woman will spread herself wide for you, huh?"

Gaibriel paused, looking down at the back of her head where she'd bent to expose her neck to his work. He huffed, "Sweetheart, you have little real appreciation for how delicious my wooing can be, trust me. Could show you, mind you, but this is hardly the right time or place. Your neck is just too pretty." He bent closer, eyeing the multi-colored filaments connecting the electric switches to the wires running around to the front of the collar. He snipped carefully with the tiny needle. "Besides. I keep the promises I make. Pretty much why I make so few of them."

She was quiet for a long while, thinking to herself as he finished the task. Wasn't long before she heard a telling click. And then her neck felt ... different, lighter. She watched the collar fall from around her neck, landing with a dull thud onto the floor. Kixi stared down at the thing for a long moment, just blinking at it as the human smoothed his fingers along the back of her suddenly bare neck. She heard him talking, telling the other human man, "Corso, grab the damn thing. We can turn it in to that lawman, along with the rest of the damn chips." Then he leaned closer to her again, whispering, "Breathe. Last thing we need is to pick you up off the floor, too. Pain in the ass."

Kixi snorted a bark of laughter, turning to face the captain with her chin raised up pugnaciously. "Still. There's got to be some reason you came here looking for me. Not sent by the Merchants, obviously."

Gaibriel shot her a saucy grin from under his bent head as he returned his small tools to the pouch where he kept them. "Just don't want you thinking I'm interested in Skavak past putting a blaster bolt in his ass, is all."

Kixi was even more enchanted. She felt like singing out some wild song, something purely stupid, like, "_Please take me with you_." Damn, but he was worth being a bit stupid over, she thought, eyeing the turn of his hips as he tossed his pack over his shoulder again. But there was no assurety this one was interested in her past her fervent skills over the holonet. Which is pretty much what Skavak had come here for, was her ability to manipulate information on the holo. "Skavak was whining about some Sullustan lawman chasing after him. That's obviously not you. Your ears aren't that big."

Gaibriel tossed his head back, laughing. "Don't worry! The size of my ears has nothing to do with the size of my other parts."

She couldn't help it. Her gaze immediately dropped down to best guage the size of his male parts, even as a blush turned her green skin even darker. The other human didn't help, considering he chuckled over the blatant flare of interest Kixi knew was obvious in her consideration. She shrugged with pretended nonchalance, "Yea, it seems everything of you's in reasonable proportion."

Gaib grinned at her, "Glad to show you all of my proportions, sweetheart. But later. I'm chasing down Skavak's sorry ass at the moment."

She nodded, smiling back at him as she imagined the arrogant sack of shit who'd told her minders when they'd offered up Kixi's "other services" that he had no interest in "sinking my cock into the slimy filth of an alien cunt." She despised the Merchants, for keeping her secured in this room for years too long, until it seemed to grow smaller and smaller around her and she felt like she was suffocating, slowly, against the pressure of the impinging walls. But her disgust for Skavak was a close second at the moment.

"I'm not really sure where he went. But I'm well able to slow him down. All I need to do is expose, all over again, all the juiciest tidbits from his record he was so intent on hiding. Hey, he paid the Merchants a hefty price for the effort, too. He'll be pinging off every camera he tries to pass on Coruscant. And there are a lot of cameras," Kixi chuckled darkly as she worked fast over the terminal. She felt Gaibriel stepping closer to her, leaning over her shoulder to peruse the details scrolling over the screen.

"Damn, Corso. Skavak's even more of a sleaze than I thought. You should look at some of the pots he's been sticking his fingers into." Gaibriel's breaths fanned the side of Kixi's jaw, just under her ear, and she shivered delicately. She felt him smile, just before he deliberately blew a puff of ear into the brief shell of her ear. "Should make it even more fun, you know. Make it so no woman will look twice at his skanky ass."

Kixi's eyes narrowed speculatively, her fingers flying across the terminal. "Oh! Label him a plague-carrier - give him a nasty case of Bothan Nether Rot, yea! That'll keep the girls away!" She actually crowed loudly as she worked. The results were spectacular, enough that Kixi proudly sank back against the smuggler's frame, resting there for a moment as she pointed. "What do you think?"

Gaibriel murmured, "Think we should get you out of here, now."

She turned her head to regard him carefully. "Not going to leave me here, then?"

He stood straight, dramatially pressing the palm of his hand over his heart. "That was always the plan, believe me! Besides. Wouldn't leave Corso in a dump like this, either. And you're prettier than him."

Corso only sniggered, "Feeling the love, here. Believe me."

* * *

Gaibriel glanced only briefly around the yawning cavernous expanse of the room, with its plush wall hangings, colorful carpets and towering windows that made for brilliant splashes of sunlight across the gleaming tile floors. Gaibriel's appreciation was more basic than that, veering more towards survival. Prettiness was a minor consideration, at best. But he could hear Corso muttering somewhere behind him, "Maybe we should've rented some nicer clothes. Don't think I've ever felt more out of place, captain." Gaib only grunted.

He'd strode inside, insisting he needed to see the Senator, still caked in the grime of sweat and dust and some kind of residue from the filth and trash that lined the streets below. Fuck him, if he'd give the bastard the respect of washing himself off before entering his damn office.

He felt a spurt of satisfaction when Doli-bur Barc sniffed a delicate sound of disgust as they stopped in front of him. Idiot should be happy he didn't kick him straight in his fucking gonads, Gaibriel thought, smirking as he nodded towards the Senator. Barc managed to mask his distaste behind a pasted-looking smile, though. Typical politician, of course. Gaibriel was more impressed he'd managed so simply to needle the man's tired sensibilities.

Barc waved one hand in that pretentious manner so common to elitist politicians, warbling, "Good, good. When I reported the theft of such valuable merchandise to Coruscant Security Forces, I never imagined they'd prove so incapable at retrieving it. I'm simply gratified to see you were more adept." He actually drawled the word "gratified". Gaibriel didn't even try to stop himself from laughing outright.

"Please. By all means, continue with your praise. It's entertaining." He watched the look of consternation that spread over the Senator's face. Behind him, Corso shifted uneasily but he didn't move, only stood there in supportive readiness, his face stiff and angry as he regarded the Senator. Gaibriel squared his shoulders as he gestured towards his companion, waited for Corso to step closer and hand him the bag.

The Senator was smart enough to sense the yawning tension in the room, at least. He actually stammered a bit, "Yes ... well, indeed, then. The reward for the retrieval of the items is substantial. I'm sure you will be pleased."

Corso darted a glance towards Gaibriel from the corner of his eye, saw the straight and rigid stance the young captain had maintained since entering the Senate Building. He'd thought at first that Gaibriel was uncomfortable with the ostentatious spaces they passed to reach the Senator's offices. But Gaib wasn't uncertain. He wasn't chagrined. There wasn't anything arbitrary in his motions.

No, Gaibriel Duncan knew _exactly_ what he was doing. And his confidence was a darkly terrible thing. Corso remembered the icy look in Gaib's eyes as he worked to remove Kixi's collar. He'd known the captain maintained a comfortable dialogue with her, teased and cajoled her, mostly to calm her, really. Maybe to soothe his own dreadful feelings. He looked, watched as Gaibriel swung the bag lightly, only enough to cause the bag to bounce along the bottom of his thigh. The clink of the chips inside the bag sounded loud in the still space between them and the Senator.

Barc frowned, looking down at the bag with raised eyebrows. He felt the sudden need to explain. Although he wouldn't have been able to say why, really. Who was this miscreant freighter captain, anyway? "The materials will be used to strengthen the will and determination of our troopers. In the days ahead, such conviction will prove absolutely essential, I believe."

"Make them more afraid of failing you, their commanders, and they'll shoot better, faster, hmm?" Gaib's tone was dangerously smooth. Corso almost nearly winced as he listened. "Sounds more like an Imperial concept, if you ask me."

"Indeed it should. The Imperial military is a fearsome thing. If we're to contend with them, it should be on equal footing."

Gaibriel canted his head to the side, contemplating the Senator with a cold, dispassionate gaze. "We should test your theory, I think. Right here."

The Senator looked confused, his brows all twisted up into a bunch against his forehead. Corso thought he looked funny all of a sudden. "Test? What test?"

Gaibriel leaped at him suddenly. The Senator yelped as the smuggler wrapped his hands around his upper arms, spinning him around before wrestling him into a prone position against the tiled floor. "Corso! Sit on his ass!" The Mantellian shook himself loose from his frozen position, dropping down to put a knee against the Senator's backside. Just to hold him in place, of course. He resolutely ignored the sputtering sounds that Barc was making, listening instead for the clicking sound that came when Gaibriel snapped the collar around the Senator's neck.

"How dare you! Gerrof me!"

Gaib stepped back, leaning down to help Corso stand up again while the Barc clambered back to his feet. Gaibriel smiled widely at the angry look of stunned surprise on the Senator's face as he spun around to face them. He wagged a single finger towards the man, tsking, "You'll need to comb your hair after the test is concluded, Senator. It's standing on end already. Who's to say what it will look like afterwards."

Barc gaped at him, "Excuse me? What in the blazes are you talking about?" Gaibriel held up the remote, then. He watched the look of dawning understanding sliding across the Senator's face, watched as the man's fingers leapt to his throat where the weight of the collar was pressing with unfamiliar solidness. Barc yelped again, holding up one hand while he cried out, "Wait a minute ... you can't do this!" But Gaibriel only depressed the activation switch.

Barc screamed as the sizzling power of the collar ripped through his system. His spine bowed as he dropped his head back, while fingers of fiery shock and pain extended through every length of his body. It felt like burning cuts, like razor-sharp edges were trilling against every nerve ending, every stretch of skin and bone, every brief cell. He smelled something smoking, thought wildly that his skin must be coming loose. And he screamed shrilly, loosed his bladder in a terrible rush.

Then the pain stopped. Suddenly. Awfully. Barc collapsed forward, until he was kneeling there on the floor, basically toppled over onto all fours as he whimpered and cried in distressed shock. The captain's boots appeared suddenly, there in his pitiful frame of vision. He looked up blearily as Gaibriel knelt down in front of him.

Barc whimpered as he noted the rueful expression on the smuggler's face, saw him shaking his head as he intoned, "I was five years-old the first time someone put a collar around my neck, Senator. He called me 'an unruly little git', said he'd teach me. And he did. He taught me when I was allowed to eat, when I was allowed to speak a word, when I was allowed to sleep, move, look, cry. Hell, when I was allowed to piss. Anytime I did different, that pain was my reward. Eventually, I didn't give a shit anymore. Figured if they wanted to kill me, I might as well laugh in their damn faces as I was taking them along witih me. Now, it's up to you. Just not sure _that's_ the lesson you want to teach your troopers."

Gaibriel slowly stood straight again. He looked over at Corso, noted the angry understanding in his expression. He just shrugged as he turned to leave, ignoring the pained whimpers of the Senator on the floor behind him as he stepped towards the doors. Corso sneered lightly down at the Senator, listening as the Security forces stepped inside the room and addressed Gaibriel, who handed them the bag of slave collar chips. The Mantellian only leaned over the whining politician, "Better watch what toys you try playing with, Senator. Someone might end up laughing at you lying there on the floor. Just saying."


End file.
